


Defying Gravity

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Tales From the Tower: The Next Generation [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Musical References, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: "I'm not dropping off the face of the earth," MJ said. "If you want to hang out, I'd be up for that. I just don't want you to feel obligated. Especially if I bring up bad stuff in your head."If he was feeling confessional, he might as well just go with it. “You were the last good thing in my life for a really long time.”That stopped her in her tracks, blinking at him. She glanced away from him briefly, looking around his apartment, then back at him. "I don't know. You wanna go crash a high school dance or something?"That got Peter to laugh and duck his head. “How about coffee?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who was hoping for more information on the Cap musical, ask and ye shall receive.
> 
> This fic spoils/uses elements of the Spider-Man Homecoming movie, so if you haven't seen that, uh, sorry?
> 
> We hammered this out in less than a month after seeing the movie and both really love it, and we hope you feel the same.
> 
> Special thanks to our shiny new beta reader TheSilverStarling who's been a tremendous help during a stressful time.
> 
> Will post once a week, probably on Mondays or Tuesdays, for the time being.

Avengers Tower was a New York Landmark with a capital L. It had been a part of MJ Jones's life as long as she could remember, looming on the skyline like a dagger ready to pierce the clouds.

That was terrible. Thank god that had been in her head.

She swiped her watch over the cabbie's console and climbed out onto the sidewalk. He'd managed to get her less than a block from the skyscraper, which gave her a moment to peer up at it and center herself. After almost five years actively working on Broadway, she'd met a handful of famous people. Some fellow actors, some politicians. Famous people loved to come backstage and shake hands and get pictures. But she was about to meet two of the most famous people in the world. And her stomach was knotted up with nerves over it.

"Just people," she muttered to herself, walking to the front doors. "Like all the rest of us idiots."

One of the receptionists directed her to the bank of elevators in the middle of the massive lobby. There was one with an “A” on it, and that was the one she would use. The building’s computer system would scan her and then open it, as she had been put on the guest list.

She dutifully stood for the scan, but the door opened before it even happened. She was then nearly trampled by a herd of half a dozen grade-school aged boys—there might have been a girl in there—who came pouring out of the elevator. Behind them was Tony Stark himself. 

He frowned at her, then held up one finger and turned toward the kids. “All of you stop right there or I’m telling your parents you yelled curse words at old ladies.”

“You are my parent!” one of them yelled back. But they did stop.

“Your mother cares if you say bad words,” he replied.

“She also gets really mad when you lie.”

Stark turned and looked at MJ. “Don’t have children.” He started to walk away, then turned. “Oh, right, you’re at the wrong elevator whomever you are.” He waved a hand. “Go see the front desk.”

"I did. They told me to use this one," she said, pointing. "I'm meeting with Captain Rogers." Because of course she was talking back to Tony Stark.

“Who are you?”

"MJ Jones," she replied, like he should know.

“That’s kind of a fake sounding name.”

From the kid herd, the one girl called, “My mom says she’s supposed to be here and to stop being you.”

Stark turned. “Are you tattling on me, Bennett?”

“I don't wanna miss the ball toss!”

Face full of consternation, he started toward the kids, gesturing to indicate MJ could go in the elevator. She stepped in cautiously, and as the doors closed she heard him say, “If you’re not really on the list, FRIDAY will gas you.”

The doors closed before she could stick out a one fingered salute.

"You are on the list, Ms. Jones," an Irish voice in the ceiling told her.

"Thanks," she replied. The woman she'd made the appointment with had warned her about the AI with a brogue.

“And I apologize for Mr. Stark’s appalling manners.”

"He's always like that?"

“Sometimes, he’s worse.”

"Glad I'm not playing Ms. Potts."

“His manners are better when she’s in town.” 

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. There was a dark-haired white woman on the other side. “Hi. I’m Darcy Bennett. Sorry about that.”

"MJ Jones." She shook her hand. "It's fine. Knocked the nerves right out of me."

“Don’t be nervous. He’s the worst.” She gestured for MJ to follow her.

She fell into step behind her. The hallway was very plain, but not sterile. More like the halls of a very nice hotel.

Darcy led her to a door and knocked. "Ms. Jones is here."

The door slid open, and on the other side was a living room. For some reason she’d been expecting a conference room. Something formal. This was someone’s apartment. There was a cut glass vase on the coffee table, so it was likely Natasha Romanov’s. Steve Rogers had small children.

Darcy gestured for her to step inside, so she did, hugging her notepad to her chest. People made fun of her for still using paper in their ever more digital society, but she preferred it. She still read physical books too. "Hello?"

"In the kitchen," came a woman's voice. "Have a seat, I'll be one sec."

The door slid shut behind her and MJ went to perch on the plush leather couch. She came out a moment later, carrying a tray of cookies. Natasha had to be in her mid-forties, but she had that ageless quality a lot of redheads had. You wouldn’t be able to guess unless you knew. “Hi,” she said, setting the plate on the coffee table. She held out her hand like she wasn’t a celebrity. “Nat Barton. Nice to meet you.”

"It's very nice to meet you, too," she said, standing a little to shake her hand. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."

“You are going to be playing me on Broadway. Seemed a good idea to help.” She reached for a cookie, and held one out to MJ. “It feels strange, still. Having your life portrayed in fiction.”

"I imagine that would be really weird." She took the offered cookie, because she felt like Nat would sit there all day with it if she didn't. "I've talked to Jan and our director, Penny, and neither of them want me to do, like, an impression of you. But I did want to talk with you about. . . just you. Your motivation, what was going on in your head when the Avengers were formed. That sort of thing." 

“My being on the team was a total accident. There was the immediate need to deal with the Chitauri, but most of my brain was devoted to worrying about Clint.” She took a bite of her cookie. “You should talk to him, too. He could probably explain me much better than I can explain myself.”

"I got the vibe from Mrs. Bennet that he was kinda. . . not a talker."

She shrugged. “Depends on the subject.”

MJ smiled. "Can't say enough about you?" she ventured, nibbling her cookie.

“Get a little booze in him and he’ll get downright poetic.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I think if you boil down that time in my life to one word, it would be ‘worry’. I worried about Clint. I worried about Steve.”

Opening her notebook, she wrote that down. "Over anything in particular?"

“You know, neither of them were dealing with the shit they’d been through. Clint I could help, because he’s. . . mine. Steve I couldn’t. I suppose the Steve stuff is more useful, since the thing is about him.”

MJ nodded. "That's mostly what it's about. I mean, that's how Jan explained it to me. People don't think about how little time passed for him between the War and the Avengers. He really wants to bring that into focus. Knowing what it looked like up close is helpful."

“When I met him he was dressed like an old man. He seemed just lost, and stuck. But I could see the ‘two Steves’ from day one. He turned on Cap Mode, took over the team, and led us into battle. It was a long time before I thought about how little time it had been for him. Tossed into our mess while grieving everyone he’d ever loved.”

They talked for over an hour. Nat was surprisingly forthcoming for a lifelong spy. And her cookies were fantastic. MJ took pages of notes, on Nat and Steve and the rest of the team.

"This was amazingly helpful," she said when it was time to move on to speak to the Rogerses. "Thank you so much."

“You’ll have a second round of questions later,” she said with certainty. “Feel free to come back or give me a call. And make sure you talk to Sharon and Barnes about Peggy, they both knew her well.”

"Captain Rogers promised his wife would be there." She cleared her throat. "I'd really love to talk to your husband, if you think he'd be willing. I'll buy the drinks."

“I’ll have him text you.”

"Thank you." She closed up her notebook and stood, offering her hand. "Your cookies are amazing."

“I’ll send a batch along with Clint,” she replied with a grin. “I stock the floor, the Rogerses have some, too. If you’re still hungry.”

"I'll text the costumer, tell her to let out my pants."

“Steve and Sharon are one floor up, first door on your left. Darcy suggested I walk you up, but I feel like you can handle an elevator and a turn.”

"I handled Tony Stark, I can probably do this." Nat walked her to the door. "Thanks again. I'll be in touch."

Nat waved, and MJ stepped out into the hall. She glanced off to the left and there, at the other end of the hall, stood Peter Parker.

Intellectually, of course, she knew he lived there. Spiderman was one of the flashier current Avengers. He still popped over to Queens sometimes and stopped purse snatchers and guys holding up bodegas. But it was really hard to reconcile that guy with the kid she'd sat at the nerd table with at lunch. "Peter?"

He stared at her, silently, then turned and shoved open the nearest door, disappearing inside.

MJ blinked surprised at the little jab of hurt she felt. Ignoring the temptation to follow him and demand an explanation, she pivoted on her heel and walked back to the elevator. If he was too good to say hi to her then fine. Obviously the Peter she'd known was long gone.

*

“Uh. Who’s that dude?”

Peter had ducked into the spare apartment next to the Bartons’, the one used by various overseas Avengers when in town. It was usually empty. On this particular day, it contained two people on a ladder, installing a ceiling light fixture. One turned, and he realized it was Cal Bennett. He didn’t know who the other one was, and the feeling was apparently mutual.

Cal looked from one to the other in surprise. “That’s Peter,” he said slowly. “Spider-Man. How long have you worked here?”

“Uh. I don’t really pay attention,” the guy replied.

“I can see that.” He looked between them again. “Hey, Justin, why don’t you head on back downstairs. Peter and I can handle this thing.”

Justin shrugged, hopped down, and strolled past Peter out the door. As the door closed, Cal said, “I would sell my soul to Beelzebub to find some competent minions. What are you doing in here, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He rubbed his face. “I kinda did.”

Cal arched a brow. Peter wondered if he'd always done that or if he and Darcy were just melding into one being. "Explain."

“You want help with that light?”

He glanced up at it and shrugged. "Sure."

Peter climbed up on the ceiling and crawled over to it, taking it from Cal. “This has a lot of wires for a light.”

“It’s for holographic projections. I forgot how handy you are.”

Well, at least electrical wiring would entertain him for a bit. “There was this girl I had kind of a thing with in high school. I mean it wasn’t really—we were friends, and then kind of not. But the good kind of not. Well, almost. I really, really liked her. Then I stood her up at a big dance and got kidnapped by the government.”

"You know, up till that last sentence you sounded almost normal." Cal pulled a tool out of his pocket and tweaked something. "So this girl who was the good kind of not a friend for a little bit was out in the hallway? Does she work here?"

“I have no idea! She was just there, in the hallway.”

"Well, I suppose I understand the impulse to dive into the nearest empty apartment. But wasn't this all, like, a decade ago?"

“Yes?” This sounded really stupid in the retelling. 

"So you're both adults with lives and experience and other stuff going on?"

“Have you never heard the girls go on about that one dude that really pissed them off like 15 years ago.” He connected the last of the wires. “As evidence, I cite the fact that I am for some reason aware that there was a British guy who dumped your wife via post-it.”

"Yeah, but I bet if she ran into said post-it guy on the street and he acted sincerely contrite and apologized for it she'd think better of him." Cal put the cover over the light and climbed down. "FRIDAY, give it a whirl."

“All systems operative.” An image of a random potted plant was projected beneath.

“Well, I panicked. And now she probably thinks worse.”

"It doesn't look good," Cal conceded.

“I’m going back upstairs. Let's just never speak of this.”

"Agreed." Peter headed for the door and Cal asked, "Hey, what was her name? The not a friend?"

“Michelle Jones. Went by MJ, at least back in school.”

Cal turned slowly and looked at him. "Oh. I have some bad news for you."

Peter closed his eyes. “Yeah?”

"You know that musical that guy's making of Steve's life? Pretty sure that was the name of the female lead."

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Mr. Bennett is correct,” FRIDAY said helpfully. “She will be playing Peggy Carter and Natasha Romanov.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “Seriously?”

"Ms. Jones has been working on Broadway for five years. She received a Tony nomination two years ago for a supporting role in the revival of _Company_. This will be her first lead."

“She was an antisocial nerd who is as smart or smarter than I am. She once carved ‘Hell is other people’ into a desk. How did she end up on Broadway?” He knew arguing with the ceiling was dumb, but he did it anyway.

“Maybe it started with Moliere,” Cal offered.

"If you like, I could queue up some of her interviews at the terminal in your room," FRIDAY offered. "She discusses her issues with social anxiety and shyness in several."

“That feels creepy.” He looked at Cal. “Is that creepy?”

"Public information is public information," he said neutrally.

He sighed. “I’m going back upstairs.”

“Thanks for the help!” Cal called after him.

Peter went back to his apartment, to better contemplate his own cowardice. Though, really, marinating in thoughts surrounding the worst time in his life didn’t seem healthy. He changed directions and went to the common room instead. They all had full apartments, but in any given day you'd find at least half of them in the big communal living room. He knew the original Avengers hadn't really had such a space—they'd all been older and settled into themselves when the team formed. His team was young enough to still like hanging out. This room was one of the first things they'd asked for when Darcy had finally pried requests out of them.

Sure enough, there was Kate and Wyatt on the couch, watching Nate and Cassie playing a racing game. "Hey Pete!" Cassie called. "You want next game?"

“Mostly I wanted to forage in the snack fridge. I’m having a weird day.”

Kate lowered the book she was reading. "Weird day? Now you have to share."

If he was really lucky, there would be beer somewhere in the fridge. “Since when do you care about gossip?”

"I'm bored. Humor me."

There _was_ beer. He pulled out a bottle and opened the top. “You know the girl I stood up when the government nabbed me?”

"I recall the story from early bonding sessions, yes."

“I ran into her in the hallway. She’s apparently in the Captain America musical.”

He heard the music from the video game stop abruptly. When he looked over all four of them were staring at him. "What happened?" Nate asked.

“Nothing. I hid like the coward I am.”

"Peter!" the girls said in unison.

"Dude," Nate added.

He finally took a swig of his beer to stall in responding. It was root beer. He glared at it a moment. “Yeah, well. When have I ever been smooth?”

"I've seen you pick women up in bars," Wyatt said. "That requires some sort of charm."

“No it doesn’t. It requires me to stand there, and say yes when a woman walks over and asks, ‘Are you really Spider-Man?’” He gestured at Nate. “Back me up, man.”

Everyone's gaze turned to him, who shrugged. "That is generally how it goes, yeah. Only, you know, I'm Iron Man."

“See, that never happened to me,” Wyatt said. “I always had to tell them when they asked what I did for a living. I’m not recognizable.”

“Because you hide from photos better than Clint,” Kate said. “Not complaining.” 

"You could try the Spider-Man line of the actress," Cassie offered. "Might still work."

“I was thinking of going with a plan of avoidance.”

"You're just gonna hide from her?" Nate nodded. "Solid plan."

"Peter," Kate said, in an extremely maternal, disapproving voice. "You are a superhero."

“Yeah, I know.” He went back to the fridge, hoping to find actual alcohol this time. And then he didn’t have to make eye contact. “She knows the guy who’s not.”

There was a chorus of understanding noises from the crowd at the couch. "The last puzzle piece falls into place." Kate was apparently feeling poetic.

"You can hide in my apartment all you want," Cassie promised.

“I have my own apartment to hide in,” he said. “But thank you.”

"Does this mean you won't go see the play?" Kate asked.

“I’ll go see the play. Just don’t ask me to go backstage.” How realistic that was, he had no idea. It was a play about Steve, all of them were going to be at various things related to it. It would be rude to systematically avoid the cast.

"Well, that's months away. Maybe you'll think of a good opening line by then."

He turned and looked at her. Romantic advice from Kate—really, any advice that wasn’t gruff and/or terse—was a rarity. She’d softened a lot since she and Wyatt got together, but this still surprised him. She wasn’t being sarcastic, she seemed genuinely interested. “Maybe someone smarter than me will think one up for me.”

"You have the phone numbers of, like four of the ten smartest people in the world. I don't know how suave any of them are."

“Ask Raf,” Cassie said. “He’s Asgardian, they’re naturally poetic.”

Nate pointed at her. "That's a good idea."

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how he’d phrase that request. He supposed he had plenty of time. “At the moment, I think I’d like in on that game after all.”

Nate held out his controller. "Good luck. She's kicking my ass."


	2. Chapter 2

MJ's last job had been the lead in a little independent play off-Broadway. She'd hoped her Tony nomination would land her better work. But nominations weren't wins and she took what she could get. The play had been fun. Weird, but fun. But it had closed in just four months and two of her fellow actors had decided to quit New York and try elsewhere. It was hard to make friends in the theater scene. There was a lot of turnover, a lot of ego. MJ generally didn't have time for either.

The cast for _Captain Rogers_ was different. A couple had worked on Acosta's previous musicals. But a lot of them were like her, newcomers or up-and-comers. It was a totally different atmosphere than her previous work.

All of Acosta’s musicals featured casts that were nearly all people of color. In this particular one, only the Nazis were white. The real Steve Rogers had told her it was one of his favorite things, because he felt people looked at him and saw a football star and farm boy from the heartland (where “Real Americans” lived). If you wanted modern audiences to get an Irish kid in 1930’s Brooklyn, a century later you needed a Puerto Rican kid from the Bronx.

Said Puerto Rican was a big bruiser of a guy named Javier with a wife and three little girls he would happily show you pictures of all day. MJ spent most of her scenes with him, and they liked to warm up together before rehearsal began officially.

"Hey Javi," she called, setting her bag down by the stage. "What adorable thing did Marisol do today?"

“Today she was awake at 6:15. It wasn’t all that adorable.”

"They can't all be winners." She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over her bag before climbing up to the stage. "My cat woke me up hacking a hairball at 7:30. If that helps."

“There is an hour and fifteen minutes and sunrise between those times.”

"Got it. Don't compete with the parent." Stretching her arms over her head, she cracked her back. "Ready to be awesome today?"

“I’m awesome every day.”

They warmed up with her current favorite song in the show. It might change by the time they opened - it often did - but for now she really enjoyed it. In the original Captain America musical _A Man's Army_ was a perky, coquettish number about Peggy being surrounded by big strong men. In Jan Acosta's hands, it had become an angry anthem about how hard a woman has to work to be thought half as good. And in the end it becomes a point of commiseration with Steve. Both of them well used to having doors slammed in their faces.

Sharon Rogers had told her the real Peggy would have loved that song.

The cast knew that both the original Avengers, and the families of the Howling Commandos had helped during the writing process, but it had surprised them all just how available everyone had been to the cast as well. Steve had taken Javier to beat punching bags together and tour the alleys in Brooklyn where he used to get beat up. Tony Stark met with the guy playing him and his father, and afterwards Nate Richards and Ada Banner had put him in an Iron Man suit and let him fly it around.

MJ had had several more meetings with Nat Barton and the Rogers. Sharon had even taken her down to DC for a weekend to meet the rest of the family and see Peggy's things. It was a little surreal, playing real people and real events. But it was by far the most background and information on a role she'd ever had.

"Sometimes I think about them sitting and watching us," Javi admitted when she'd finished her warm up. "The Avengers. That's a lot of pressure."

"It's always pressure," she said, grabbing her water bottle. "Everyone's a critic."

“Yeah, but I don’t know those people.”

"Considering Rogers is still mentally comparing this to the fifties musical, I think the bar is pretty low."

“I don’t know, he’s super serious about this.”

She braced a hand on her hip. "Has he been using Cap voice on you? Do I need to call Nat?"

He laughed. “I’m fine. Let's get to work so we don’t suck.”

"I never suck," she informed him with a grin.

Rehearsals were hard work and at an intense pace, but they were also a lot of fun. Particularly with good company. Reminded her of the fun of her very first cast. She’d auditioned for the school musical on a lark—she liked filling her day with activities so she didn’t have to go home. She remembered the stunned silence from the drama teacher after she’d finished her audition, and opening night finishing the show and knowing _this_ was what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. And even more so, in the 6 weeks between casting and closing night, her misfit ass had found a compatible bunch of weirdos. They were her people.

But this cast was really the most fun since she’d belted for the back rafters of the school auditorium covered in green body paint.

“Drinks? Anyone?” called Omar, the young and very rowdy guy playing Dugan and Thor. He had kind of a following among the chorus of Cap-ettes.

MJ had a long subway ride back to Queens. Where her grumpy old cat and TV dinner waited.

"I'll come," she said, shrugging her jacket back on. She needed to stop being a little old lady at twenty five.

Omar grinned back at her. “Be still my heart.”

"I know. Your life is complete. You can die happy." Some of the chorus was glaring at her but she ignored them. Omar was sweet and funny but so not her speed. She'd help him rile them up if he wanted, though.

“Six fifteen,” Javier said by way of explanation, waving at them all on her way out.

They piled into a couple of cabs, heading to a bar Omar swore was the new hottest place to be. Apparently its niche was updating old depression-era style drinks. "It'll be like research," he declared, to the giggles of the chorus girls in their cab.

They ordered a ton of drinks, and someone managed to find them a big enough booth/table to cram into. A second round of drinks prompted a bunch of overpriced but delicious tapas-style food. It was fun. She was actually having fun.

A guy from the chorus named Josh went to the bathroom, and came back ten minutes later and stopped in front of their table. “Okay, no big deal or anything,” he said in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. “But Eli Bradley is in the john.”

_Everyone's_ head swiveled to look at the bathroom hallway. MJ shook her head. "Avenger pisses. Film at eleven."

“Well not all of us get to go hang out over there with them,” Josh said. “For some of us it’s a big deal.”

"I'm surprised he's in a bar," Omar commented. "He's supposed to be happily married."

"They let married people into places like this," one of the older girls told him conspiratorially.

“He married a white woman,” another girl said. “Maybe he’s looking for a little side business.”

MJ scanned the crowd until she saw their table. The enormous blonde man sitting with the woman in a headscarf were pretty distinct even if their backs were to her. And she could definitely see Tess Bradley. “Probably wouldn’t have brought her along in that case.”

Several of the girls' shoulders slumped. Omar was going to need to start taking them two at a time to keep morale up.

Josh reached over and poked her arm. He was a good dancer, so she decided to let him live. "Introduce us."

"I barely know the new crew," she said.

She could see Eli walking back to their table, and people shifting around to accommodate him. Tess clearly got a glance of them staring, though her reaction—her eyes went wide and she began rapidly elbowing the woman sitting next to her—was a little over the top. Soon half of them were looking at her and her table.

"Well, they sure seem to know you," Josh commented.

MJ had no idea what this was all about, but she had a feeling she was going to want to kill Peter when she found out. "Excuse me a second." She nudged Lacey, the dancer next to her, and she hopped out of the booth so MJ could stand. Then she walked over to the Avengers table and stuck her hand out at Tess. "Hi. I don't think we've been introduced. MJ Jones.”

“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to stare. I was trying to figure out if you were who I thought you were.” MJ didn’t know that she’d actually heard her speak before, and the intense redneck accent surprised her. She shook MJ’s hand. “Tess Bradley.” 

“Baby, I think she knows who you are,” Eli said.

“And yet I still have manners.”

She’d been fairly certain Peter wasn’t at the table when she’d gotten up, and was happy she hadn’t been wrong. Just for the awkward. "I'm not used to being recognized. Either you're a bigger theater fan than your predecessor or my reputation precedes me.”

“A musical theatre production about one of our own is kind of a big deal around the tower,” Eli said. MJ glanced at the rest of the table. Polite poker faces, all of them.

“Pull up a chair,” Raf said. He, conversely, did not have an accent, though she’d been expecting one. 

Resisting the urge to glance back at what was surely a table of ravenously curious theater people, she hooked an empty chair with a foot and pulled it into the empty space they'd created between Tess and Kamala.

“If Kate were here she could probably share some useful observations about Natasha,” Raf said, and then introduced everyone to her, even though she recognized them all. Nate, Cassie and Wyatt were on the other side of the table. 

"Nat's been pretty forthcoming," MJ told them. "Especially considering her reputation. I've been trying to talk to her husband but he's . . . elusive. The actor playing him, Quincy, hasn't been able to touch base with him either.”

Wyatt made a face. “He’s like that sometimes. I’ll talk to him.”

"He's not required to help," she said, not wanting to overstep. "Quincy's fine with doing his own thing. We just want to know one way or another.”

“He’s just dumb,” Cassie said, sounding reasonably drunk. “It’s the testosterone. It makes them all stupid.” She waved at the table. “No offense.”

MJ tried to reign in her arched eyebrow but it wouldn't cooperate.

"Cassie is having a bad night," Tess said diplomatically. "We brought her out to cheer her up."

Kamala added, "Mostly by keeping the Long Island Iced Teas coming."

"Got it.”

“I dumped my shitbag ex-boyfriend,” Cassie said. “No need to be coy. Only testosterone poisoning could generate the special kind of stupid it takes to fuck around on an Avenger.”

"If you need a rebound I hear good things about Omar," MJ offered, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

She leaned over. “The one with the harem over there?”

"Yes. He's playing Thor in the musical, if that gives you a glimpse into his personality. You'll make a gaggle of chorus girls cranky, but he'll treat you right.”

“Well, I’d be happy to entertain some lonely chorus girls,” Nate said. “My usual wingman didn’t feel like coming out tonight.

“Fucking testosterone,” Cassie muttered. She drained her glass. “Your wingman is too busy angsting over a 10 second encounter with his high school girlfriend.”

The rest of the table went silent and MJ looked over at her. "It was more like five seconds.”

Cassie scrunched up her face. “Someone should have cut me off like two drinks ago.”

"Happily." Kamala reached over and took her half full glass away from her.

MJ looked back at Tess and Eli. "He's angsting?”

They exchanged a look. “I feel like anything I say will make this worse,” Tess said.

That was almost certainly a yes. Oh, Peter. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. Maybe she should have just gone home tonight.

"It was nice meeting you all, but I should probably get back to my friends." She pushed her chair out and stood. "Could you please tell him I'm not mad at him anymore?”

“I’ll tell him,” Cassie said.

"Thanks. See you guys around." MJ inclined her head and turned, heading back over to her table.

They swarmed her with questions, which didn’t help. They still wanted an introduction, and all MJ wanted was to go home. 

*

It was Saturday morning. Well past the hour anyone should still be in bed—it was almost afternoon. But insomnia had gotten the best of him last night. The return of regular nightmares had been an unpleasant surprise, so he tended to stay up until he passed out. 

It was 11:35, and someone was knocking on his door. 

“FRIDAY, who is that?”

"Ms. Jones.”

“My Ms. Jones?” Not that she was his. But FRIDAY would know what he meant.

“Yes.”

He scrambled up so fast he nearly fell, searching the floor for something to put on. “Tell her I’ll be right there,” he said, shoving his legs into jeans. What was she doing outside his apartment? And why?

"Would you like me to let her in the living room?" FRIDAY asked helpfully.

“Sure, sure,” he said. His living room was a disaster. “Hey, wait—” But he could already hear the door sliding open. He needed to find a shirt right now.

He yanked one on without looking at it and opened his bedroom door, peeking out into the living room.

Sure enough, MJ was standing beside the couch, peering around the room with interest. She had a white bag in one hand and was wearing a bulky green army surplus jacket that reminded him of the kind of stuff she wore as a teenager.

“Hi,” he said quietly, not sure what else to say.

She turned to look at him. They studied each other a moment, then she held up the bag. "Delmar's. Number eight. Extra pepperocinis?"

He smiled and shook his head ruefully. “You have a long memory. Thanks.” He pointed towards the kitchen table, which was mercifully clean.

"I didn't get drinks." She set the bag on the table and shrugged her coat off. "But Del says hi."

They sat and opened their sandwiches. Silence stretched, and then he said, “I’m really sorry.”

She nodded. "I forgive you," she said, taking a big bite of her sandwich.

“Not just for being rude a couple weeks ago.”

"I figured." She chewed and took a drink of her soda. "I forgave you for the dance a long time ago. More or less."

“Thanks for not telling the world what an asshole I am.”

"Well, I'm saving my tell all book for when the roles dry up. Better hope _Captain Rogers_ is a hit." She followed this up with a grin and a wink.

He laughed. Then he ate his sandwich for a moment while he tried to decide what to say. “So what brings you and this awesome sandwich to my door?”

"I ran into some of your friends in a bar the other day. A very drunk Wasp informed me you were, quote, 'angsting.'" Leaning back, she wiped her fingertips with a paper napkin. "We don't have to be friends, Peter. It's been ten years and clearly our lives have gone in different directions. But I don't want there to be bad blood between us. I don't hate you. I don't resent you. I was sad and worried and mad for a long time. But I grew up and thought about it and. . . I don't know. It's over. It's the past."

That was probably the right answer. Say yes, say thank you, say good bye. Go forward. Don’t rip this all open again. Don’t do it.

And still he found himself saying, “I was a block from your house.”

Her brow went up in a way he very much remembered. "What?"

“The night of the dance. I could actually see your shadow behind your shade. You were trying to tame your hair. I stopped because I realized you were running late and I didn’t want to get stuck waiting in your living room.”

"I don't blame you." MJ's parents hadn't had the calmest of relationships. Peter couldn't remember a time he'd been at her place when he hadn't heard them fighting. She took a sip of her drink. "What happened next?"

He looked into the middle distance over her shoulder. “SUV pulls up, guys in suits hop out, tell me I need to come with them. Shove me in the back. An hour later I’m sitting what looked like an interrogation room from a spy movie. Table, chairs, big mirrored wall. Guy sits down and introduces himself—fuck if I can remember his name. Plays me a youtube video of Spider-Man and then tells me about the secret government program to find and train the next generation of Avengers.”

MJ was giving him that look that had always made him nervous. Like she saw right through him and was cataloging his lies. "Sounds like your participation wasn't exactly voluntary."

“Oh, they gave me a choice. I totally didn’t have to. Instead I could be publicly outed and sent to adult prison where I’d get to see some of the criminals I’d gotten arrested. Unless they decided I was too much a security risk, in which case I could spend the rest of my life in the RAFT. Oh, and they’d see that my aunt and my ‘little friends’, which I’m pretty sure included you, would be arrested as well for aiding and abetting in my crimes.” He blew out a breath. “So yeah, that’s why I stood you up.”

"Jesus, Peter," she said softly.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his face and stood up, going over to the counter to grab some paper towels and also to not have to make eye contact. “If you could not mention that part in your tell-all, I’d appreciate it.”

There was a pause and he heard her clear her throat. "I'll make something up."

“Thanks. Only a couple of people know about that.”

Another pause. "I bring all that up, don't I? That time? Is that part of why you were avoiding me?"

“A little bit, yeah. More than a little.” He sighed. “I’m really sorry, I could have at least managed hello.”

"Well. You were never good at thinking on your feet. With girls, anyway."

“That is still exceedingly true. I have no game.”

She ran her fingertip along the wood grain of the table. "You're okay now, though? Here? Seems like the OGs take good care of you guys."

“Yeah. Despite the fact that when we met them the first time, we tried to kill them.”

"Nat told me about that. Sort of." She crumpled up her napkins and sandwich wrapper and shoved them into her bag. "I'm pretty much done with my research. If I have other questions I can probably just do it by text. So you don't have to worry about running into me in the halls anymore."

She was packing to leave, and he felt oddly panicked about that. “I don’t want to never see you again.”

Both brows went up at that and he imagined if he hadn't just shared one of his deepest secrets with her there would have also been a snarky retort. "I'm not dropping off the face of the earth. If you want to hang out, I'd be up for that. I just don't want you to feel obligated. Especially if I bring up bad shit in your head."

If he was feeling confessional, he might as well just go with it. “You were the last good thing in my life for a really long time.”

That stopped her in her tracks, blinking at him. She glanced away from him briefly, looking around his apartment, then back at him. "I don't know. You wanna go crash a high school dance or something?"

That got him to laugh and duck his head. “How about coffee?”

"I mean, I _guess_."

“I’ll even buy you a cronut.”

She grinned. "Deal."

“Good, because I really want to hear how you got to be a Broadway star. I didn’t even know you could sing.”

"Please, I can do anything."

“Well, that I’ve always known.” He helped her clean up the trash from the sandwiches and went to find shoes to go out.

"In a weird way, I have you to thank," she told him as they were riding the elevator down. "For the whole Broadway thing."

“I love getting credit for things I wasn’t even aware of. It’s like finding free money.”

She laughed. "So, without you, the decathalon team didn't make it to finals. So I found myself with nothing to do fall of junior year. Tried out for the school musical, got the lead. The rest was history."

“College?”

"Nah." She shrugged. "Dad lost his job, things really went downhill. Principal Morita got me a scholarship to do my senior year at Midtown, but no way college was happening. I did some local commercials, then a bunch of chorus and tertiary parts on Broadway until _Company_ two years ago."

“Did he talk to you guys for the production?” Their high school principal’s grandfather was one of the Howling Commandos. He remembered seeing the pictures on the wall as a kid.

"He did. He gave the guy playing him a ton of his granddad's letters and stuff. Jan and I have promised him tickets for his whole family opening night." She smiled softly. "He's really proud of me."

“I’m really proud of you, too,” he replied, very sincerely. “I always knew you were going to do something awesome. Even if I never imagined this.”

"I don't think anyone would have predicted this." She shrugged. "It's nice. Getting to be someone else for a while."

“Yeah. Though I don’t recommend doing it full time. Eventually no one knows who you really are anymore.”

"I promise my shitty studio apartment and perpetually moody cat keep me grounded."

“Did you meet Steve and Sharon’s cat?” 

"Barnabas the Immortal? Yes, he sat in my lap. I felt truly blessed."

“That is really high praise.” They walked across the lobby towards the front doors. “Did they tell you the Wakandans think he has an extended lifespan because he used to sleep in Steve’s vibranium shield all the time.”

"They mentioned it, yeah. The producers were really hoping to get the real shield for some publicity stuff, but Steve refused."

“That doesn’t surprise me. Steve is pretty particular.”

"Yeah, it seemed kinda. . . cheesy. Jan was actually glad he said no. He's trying to avoid gimmicks."

They walked down the sidewalk, towards an outdoor cafe in the massive courtyard outside Grand Central. “I like what I’ve heard about the structure. A lot of our lives are like that, divided between when we were normal and when we were not, and then an intermission that erased everything, and we had to start over.”

"It's really cool. It's not like any other show I've been on." She dodged around a couple of pedestrians, hugging herself. "And my parts are _amazing_."

“I can’t wait to see it,” he replied. The hostess at the cafe knew him—they knew all the tower denizens—and they were quickly shown to a table. It was just barely spring, so it was a little chilly, but they sat outside anyway.

"I think the first few nights is going to be just Avengers and Howling Commando descendants," MJ said with a smile, looking at the menu. "Some of the cast is nervous. We're not used to playing real people."

“I can see that. But I have faith in you.”

"Well thank you." She looked oddly shy as she said it. "For a preview, FRIDAY informs me she has bootlegs of _Company_ as well as the two musicals I did in high school."

“Okay, now I _have_ to watch them.”

"I am very proud of my Elphaba."


	3. Chapter 3

The waitress came and they ordered. It was supposed to be just a cup of coffee, but they ended up sitting there talking about anything and everything, for hours. As if it hadn’t been a decade and a bunch of hurt feelings since their last conversation.

"You're kidding me, Ned is not building robots for the Navy."

"Robot _submarines_ ," MJ confirmed laughing, as they walked back to the Tower. "He's in San Diego. In the winter he text me pictures of the beach and I reply with creative curses."

Peter laughed. “Good for him, I’m glad he’s happy.”

"He seems really happy. He has a whole room of Lego sets."

“I should call him. I’m just clearly chickenshit about aspects of my personal life.”

"He'd love to hear from you. I know he follows the exploits of the Avengers."

“I figured he’d be pissed at me for just vanishing. It was years before I realize no one had been told.”

She shrugged. "He's Ned. He was worried right after it happened. But once you guys started working with the old team and your names were announced, he was thrilled. Told everyone how he'd been Spider-Man's best friend. I'm told it got him a lot of tail in college. At the least he owes you a beer. Or a robot. Or a robot who makes beer."

Peter was happy for him, but it still ached. The normal experiences he’d never gotten and missed more in retrospect. Pieces of the life he’d lost. “I’ll call him.”

They reached the Tower and MJ stopped. "I gotta get home. Errands to run, chores to do." She smiled. "This was nice."

“It was.” He still didn’t want her to go, but it would be creepy to say so. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

"Absolutely. My weeks are pretty packed, but I have time on weekends. Or nights, depending on how much you value sleep."

“Unless there’s a mission, my schedule is mine to set. And I’m kind of a night owl. So whenever is good for you.”

"Great. I'll give you a call." With that she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He inhaled sharply. She still smelled the same; it reminded him of summer and home and… beginnings. “See you soon.”

"Bye, Peter," she said with a smile, before heading down the block.

*

Wednesday's rehearsal was cut short so Jan could go to his son's school play. Most of the cast went out for a drink. MJ considered calling Peter and seeing if he wanted to hang out. But her cupboards were bare and she was tired. A trip to the bodega and a quiet night at home was probably necessary.

She'd gone to Delmar's to get Peter his sandwich, but her usual spot was Sanchez's down the block from her building.

"Hey, it's our most famous customer," the counter guy, Matt exclaimed as she walked in.

"Play hasn't opened yet," she called back, grabbing a basket to swing down an aisle. She grabbed cereal, some fruit, pasta and sauce, bread, then headed back to the front for deli meat and cheese.

When she got there, Matt was holding up a tabloid with a picture of her and Peter having coffee. The headline read "Kiss of the Spider-Man?" in big black letters.

Blinking, she said, "Well, points for the musical reference headline."

“I knew he was from around here, didn’t know you knew him.”

"We went to school together, we were catching up." She started putting her things on the counter. "Gimme half a pound each salami, turkey and Monterey jack. And I'll take the paper."

While he was getting the meat, she skimmed the article. They'd identified her as the star of the new Cap musical, but there was no mention of their childhood connection. She took a picture of the front page and sent it to Peter. _I'm thinking Paris for the honeymoon?_

_Shit. I’m sorry. I’ll call Darcy._

_Thanks. My building is not equipped to handle paparazzi swarms._

_I’m really sorry. I didn’t even think about this._

She chuckled, handing her cash over to Matt and gathering her bags. _It's fine, Peter. Unless you took the picture and sold it to the papers. In which case, we need to talk. I'm gonna need a cut._

_I wouldn’t dream of it._

Texting and walking while carrying three grocery bags wasn't working. He was clearly free, based on how quickly he was replying, so she called him. "At least they got my good side."

“All your sides are good,” he replied.

"Peter Parker, when did you get charming?"

“I’m not, I’m just honest.”

Shaking her head, she unlocked the door to her building and stopped to check her mail. "So what are you up to today?"

He paused to consider that. “I think… hiding from my teammates and the inevitable teasing.”

"That's probably wise." Two bills and four pieces of junk mail. Why did mail even exist anymore? "I would offer to come hide with you, but I'm already back home."

Another pause. “I could come over there. If you actually wanted company and weren’t just being polite. If you were, that’s fine. I’ll shut up.”

She grinned, hiking up her stairs. "I would love some company, as long as you're okay with an evening of couch and Netflix."

“Honestly, that sounds like a great evening.”

"All right. I'll send you my address and order some food."

“I’ll get the food. And Karen will know where you live. I’ll see you tonight.”

He hung up before she could ask who Karen was.

She was met at her door by her cat, a sleek, petite, black female with one eye and almost no teeth. This did not stop her from squeaking angrily. "Hush, Mimi," she muttered, bending to stroke her from ears to tail. "You need to be nice, I'm having company tonight."

The cat pranced over to her food bowl and sat expectantly. MJ dumped a can of wet food into the bowl and mushed it up with a little water before setting it down. Then she made an effort to gather up all the dirty clothes into one pile and hide it behind the screen that marked her living space from her sleeping space.

Once she had her place at least passably clean, she went into the bathroom and fussed with her hair. Suddenly all she could think about was what he’d said about watching her putting it up the night of the dance.

Her hair had always been a source of contention for costumers. For a while she'd kept it shaved close, when Wakandan hair styles had been big. That had been fine 'cause she could just wear wigs. For _Company_ they'd straightened it and given her extensions, which she'd never have had the patience for herself, but had been fun to try. Once she'd left that she'd had the extensions removed and left it more or less natural, which meant she had a head full of untamable waves or neat orderly curls depending on humidity and how much effort she put into it. The costume designer on the Cap musical had declared they could have whatever hair they wanted, which meant no fighting it into victory rolls or finger waves every night, something her scalp was very grateful for.

Currently it was in a messy bun/ponytail monstrosity that kept it off her neck and out of her face in rehearsal, but didn't exactly scream "second date."

Oh, fuck, was this their second date?

She expected her door buzzer to go off, indicating he was downstairs. Instead she got knocking on her living room window, which scared a squeak out of her. She could see a black silhouette on her fire escape. Holding a takeout bag.

Mimi went to hide on top of the fridge as MJ went to open the window. "Seriously?"

Peter pulled the hood of his suit off. She hadn’t known there was a cat-burglar version of it. “Hi, it’s me.”

"I figured." She stepped back so he could climb inside. "Don't believe in doors?"

“This is faster. I didn’t want the food to get cold.” He handed her the bag and turned to close the window. That suit was the kind of thing they’d put a woman in your average Space Action Movie. It was _painted_ on. And that man did not have an inch of fat on him.

She was officially staring at his ass, this was probably a second date.

He turned back to her and she made a show of looking in the bag. "What did you bring?"

“Mongolian BBQ.” He turned. “It’s gross cold.”

"Yum." She led him over to her couch, where she ate most of her meals. "Come have a seat."

He hit a button on the front of his suit which loosened and expanded with a hiss, so he could take it off. The t-shirt and shorts he had on under it weren’t quite as tight. “There’s utensils and stuff in the bag.”

"That's really cool," she said, gesturing at the suit before setting the bag on the coffee table and starting to unpack it.

“I have a couple of them. This one, obviously, is for stealth. There are the bright red ones, too, of course.”

"I've seen the papers." She went to the kitchen and came back with drinks. "Who's Karen?"

“Karen is the AI in my suit. FRIDAY is Tony’s. He offered to put her in my suit, unify all the different AIs—Nate has one, too—but I’m kind of attached to Karen.”

MJ smiled. That was a very Peter thing to say. "Well. Tell her I say hi."

That made him smile. “My first suit I made myself, and it was crappy. Second one came from the Program. When they asked me for the formula for my webshooters, I kept giving it to them slightly wrong. Eventually they took me to a lab and let me make it myself. All of us trapped in there found our own ways of rebellion. Karen, actually, was Nate’s.”

"He made AIs?"

Pater opened all the cartons and arranged them with spoons and chopsticks. “He is a very, very brilliant programmer. Who unfortunately chose crime instead of the lucrative career in Silicon Valley that would have been in his future. The AI that runs his suit it actually implanted into his brain.”

"That's kind of gross." She sat and accepted the take out box he handed her. "You don't have any plugs or ports under your hair, do you?"

“No, no. I wasn’t even supposed to have an AI. I move under my own muscle power, I don’t need as much stuff as Nate does. They told him to write it a basic voice-control interface. He made Karen instead. The first time I wore the suit, she told me Nate had made her because he thought whoever I was, I probably could use someone other than those assholes to talk to.”

She grinned. "Nate was at the bar when I ran into your friends. He didn't talk much but seemed nice. They all did." 

“He is. They all are. We’ve been through hell together. They kept us separated at first, because they didn’t want us to bond. The only person I had any contact with was Nate, because he got Hiro, his AI, to talk to Karen, and we could kind of pass messages back and forth.”

"That's very prison movie," she commented around a bite of meat and rice. The BBQ was really good and as hot as if they'd ordered in a restaurant.

“Prison is kind of an apt metaphor for my experience,” he said. 

She nudged his knee with hers in sympathy. After what felt like an appropriate pause, she picked up her remote. "Netflix?"

“I’m down for anything but that documentary about Sokovia.”

"What're your thoughts on plagues?" she asked with the creepiest grin she could muster.

“I live with someone who was around during the Black Death. I’ve acquired a lot of thoughts about plagues.”

She turned the TV on. "I'm in the middle of this series about plagues and epidemics. I promise there's no pictures. But if it's too morbid we can browse."

“I’ll watch. I like that kind of stuff. I just may need to interject if they’re wrong.”

"I haven't caught any errors yet." She queued up the next episode - about the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic - and got comfortable in her seat.

It occurred to her that this was a _really_ unromantic topic to be watching TV about. Maybe it wasn’t really a date. Maybe it was just two friends watching Netflix. He had his arm draped over the back of the couch, but didn’t touch her.

They ate their dinner while learning about the flu - apparently accurate enough for Peter - and let it run into the Plague of Justinian. By then Mimi had calmed down enough to join them, settling on MJ's lap and growling when Peter tried to pet her. 

"She doesn't like men," MJ said by way of explanation.

“I can respect that. Most of us suck.”

"I found her two years ago, she was a kitten. Someone had stepped on her. Broke her jaw and cheek bones. Hence the missing eye and teeth."

“Poor kitty,” he said. “Give her a scritch for me.”

She ran her nails under Mimi's chin, earning a purr, which made Peter smile. "So. Typhoid Mary? Or do superheroes have curfews?"

“No one tracks my coming and goings, I could sleep here.” His face flushed. “Not that—you know what I mean.”

She laughed. "I know. I know. I will probably have to kick you out after Mary. I have an early call for costumes tomorrow."

“I bet you look great in the 1940’s clothes,” he told her, so genuinely she knew it wasn’t some kind of calculated line.

"I do." Because she did and he wasn't going to tell her she was vain for thinking so. "The catsuit in the second act is a little sketchy, but we're working on it."

The smile to that had an entirely different vibe to it. “I bet that looks great, too.”

"Probably looked better on Natasha." Or Peter, given how nice his stealth suit looked. She was going to get to watch that climb back out the window. That'd make for some pleasant thoughts later this evening. 

“Depends on who is looking,” he said quietly.

MJ felt her cheeks heat and she cleared her throat, glancing away. "Yeah. Probably."

He cleared his throat, too. “Sorry. So, Typhoid Mary?”

"Right." She pet her cat and hit the button to keep the show going. About halfway through, she realized he was absently winding a lock of her hair around his fingers, twisting it into a curl. For a few minutes, that was the only thing she could focus on. Mimi stretched and climbed off her lap, sauntering off to claim the bed, probably. MJ found the nerve to scoot a little closer to him. He moved his arm, hand touching the back of her neck. His fingers were very calloused, and so her mind immediately went to how those might feel elsewhere.

She was probably going to need to watch this episode again, because she was absolutely not paying attention. When it ended, she considered letting it run. Given a few more episodes they might get somewhere interesting. But she really did have an early call in the morning. And she knew, deep in her gut, that starting something with Peter Parker wasn't going to be simple or casual. She needed to think about it a little longer before she jumped in.

So she reluctantly turned the TV off and sat up a little. He pulled his hand back without a peep. “This was nice,” he said instead.

"It was." Her schedule was only going to get crazier. It was a terrible time to start something. "Maybe we can hang again this weekend."

“I'll be around,” he said with a grin. “Call me when you’re free.”

"I will." She stood and watched him get his suit back on. It was just as yummy as she remembered. They walked to the window and he started to put his mask on. She stopped him with a hand on his wrist, leaned in and kissed him. She felt as much as heard him sigh, and his other arm came around her waist. He'd kissed her once, all those years ago, the chaste, hesitant kiss from a boy who had no idea what he was doing. This one was from a man who did.

She sank the fingers of her other hand into his hair and for a few moments they just kissed. No push to go further, no wandering hands. It was nice, and sweet, and curled her toes in all the right ways.

He lifted his head, and she watch something sad cross his eyes. “I have never regretted the last decade more.”

MJ touched his cheek. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her a moment, then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. This one was all heat. She made a little squeaking sound and pressed close, tucking her arms around his waist and flattening her hands on his back. There really was nothing but lean muscle. He had a dancer's build, or a gymnast's. 

When he finally lifted his head, she actually felt a little dizzy. And had the stray crazy thought that if the government hadn’t nabbed him, losing her virginity probably would have been a _hell_ of lot more enjoyable then a disappointing encounter in an NYU dorm room.

They stared at each other a moment, then he dropped his hands and she took a nervous step back. "I'll, um, call you."

“Thanks,” he said, looking at her for one more moment, before putting the mask back on.

She opened the window and watched him climb out, sticking her head into the chill spring night to watch him swing away.

Okay. That was really cool.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a banner now :) Got check it out and praise Olive's skills.

Peter didn’t like going through the lobby in his gear, so he scaled the side of the building, and let himself in through the common room. It had glass doors and a balcony covered in grass for the use of the couple dogs that lived on the upper floors.

Of course, this had the downside of running into a bunch of the others.

Nate made a show of looking at a non-existent watch on his wrist. "And what sort of time do you call this, young man?"

“Aw, come on, mom. I took Karen with me and everything.”

"She's a bad influence on you, keeping you out at all hours."

He sat on the couch next to him. “I’m digging myself into a hole that may be quicksand.”

Nate's brows went up. "Tell me more."

“MJ showed up at my apartment on Saturday.”

He put his tablet down, half turned and folded his hands in his lap. "And?"

“We had sandwiches. Then coffee. Then tonight I went over to her place and we watched dork TV.”

"I've yet to see the problem. This is a long way from hiding in the spare apartment."

“Right before I left, she kissed me.”

Nate stared a moment. Then he lifted his arms in a victory V. "This deserves celebratory drinks. Scotch? Whiskey? That wacky Wakandan stuff?"

“This is not a celebratory occasion.” He rubbed his forehead. “You wouldn’t understand.” Particularly since Peter himself didn’t understand.

Nate resettled. "What's the matter, man? Pretty girl kisses you, you shouldn't look like your dog died."

“She’s just. . . It’s her. She’s different.” She was so tangled up in his memories, and still seemed to pull at him. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be minor, or casual. She’d leave a mark on him one way or the other.

Maybe Nate got that. As far as Peter knew, Nate didn't have anyone like MJ in his past. But he was older and had gotten his heart broken a time or two. "Has it occurred to you that, for MJ, you're _him_? She wouldn't have kissed you if she didn't mean it."

“She’s pretty well over me, present circumstances notwithstanding."

"Yeah, women kiss guys they're over all the time. Especially the second time they've seen them in a decade."

“I’ve been kissed by women whose name I don’t even know, just for being a superhero.” But she wasn’t like that and he damn well knew it. He was just… scared.

Nate crossed his arms and studied him a moment. "You should talk to Tony."

“The man whose wife says ‘I don’t know why I put up with you’ at least twice a day?”

"The man with the worst relationship with his alter ego, other than Steve. The man who danced around his _her_ for the better part of a decade. And the man who hides all of that behind bravado and snark."

Peter sighed. “Yeah.” It was funny, people made a lot of jokes about Nate kind of looking like Tony, and tended to assume he was the same all over, like there could only be one sort of Iron Man.  But Nate was way less fucked up than some of them. He was one of those heart-on-his-sleeve, open book dudes. Peter was pretty sure Nate knew the middle names and life stories of every woman he’d ever slept with. He’d made an entire AI to cheer up a stranger. His endless brash kindness had kept Peter’s head above water when he was a terrified, homesick kid. Even now, Nate never failed to see _right_ through him. “If I ever get married, she’ll probably say ‘I don’t know why I put up with you’ twice a day.”

"At the very least. In the exact same tone of exasperated love that Pepper uses."

He rubbed his face. “Yeah. In the meantime, I’m going to go to bed.”

Nate looked at his invisible watch again. There was a clock on the wall. “It’s like 10:30.”

Peter stood up. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Do you really require more explanation?”

It still took him a second, then he made a hilarious face. "No. No I'm good, thanks."

Sleep itself was probably going to be elusive, but maybe he’d get lucky. “G’night, Nate.”

"Night, Pete."

As it turned out, he slept fine, and his dreams weren’t dark at all. They were, however, _very_ smutty. 

What he really did not need, on the other end of the ringing phone that woke him in the morning, was his Aunt May. “The internet tells me your love life is looping in a circle.”

He yawned. “I. . .what?”

"Spider-Man's new flame really an old one." The tone she used indicated she was quoting something. "I gotta say, Michelle was always pretty but the last ten years have been very good to her."

He groaned. “God. I was hoping they wouldn’t make that connection.”

"You can't hide anything from the press, Peter. Or your aunt, though I admit I dropped the ball on this one."

He put the pillow over his face. Maybe he could just suffocate himself. “It’s complicated.”

"All the more reason to tell me!" Now she was just tormenting him. "You will make the cutest babies." Yeah. Torment.

“May. Please. Have mercy.”

She laughed. "How ya doin' Pete? Really?"

“I have no fucking clue.” He sighed. “You know how I felt about this girl.”

"I do. Vividly." May had been witness to quite a lot of teen angst. "And I remember what happened when They took you. She came looking for you."

He lifted the pillow. “You never told me that.”

There was a pause and he could picture her face. "Well, when we talked you seemed so. . . stressed, I didn't want to add to it. By the time you were in the Tower it seemed like it would be ripping open an old wound."

“The wound has been opened. Maybe I’m going to finally get to clean it out so it will heal right.”

"Hmm." Another pause. "About a week after. . . well, after, she came by the apartment and asked where you were and why you hadn't been back at school. I told her what Ross had told me to say - that you'd been accepted to a prep school in Boston. She clearly didn't believe me, demanded the name of the school and where she could send letters. No one had given me those answers, so I put her off as best I could. I was worried she'd keep pressing and the government would hear about it."

“I told her the truth,” he said. “About what happened.” 

"Oh, Peter." She sounded sad and relieved at the same time. "What did she say? How'd she take it?"

“She tried to apologize for bringing up bad memories. I tried to explain she was like the last _good_ one. The last moment of the life I had before.” He blew out a breath. “Last moment of my childhood, maybe.”

May made a sympathetic noise. "So how does it stand now? Just friends?"

Suddenly he felt fifteen again. “Um. Not. . .exactly.”

"Oh, really?" At least she didn't sound sad anymore. "So there's a grain of truth to the tabloids?"

“I'd assess the truth level at about a tablespoon.”

She squealed. Honest to God squealed. "I'm so happy for you! Aren't I? I can be happy, right?"

“Could you do so quietly? It’s very new, I don’t want it to get too blown up.”

"Of course, of course. I'm just. . . really happy for you. Michelle was always a lovely girl. You should bring her by for dinner sometime."

“I promise to do that as soon as it’s appropriate. Which may not be soon, but will be eventually.”

"Taking it slow, got it. That's good. You're both young, been through some stuff."

He sighed. “We all have, haven’t we?”

"You deserve a little happiness, sweetie."

“I’m happy,” he said, aware he sounded way too defensive when he said that.

"You're content," she corrected. "You're safe and you have good friends and seem to love your job. But you have a melancholiness to you. Have for years. I don't know if MJ will help it. Maybe she won't. But you sound. . . animated when you talk about her."

“She’s good company.” She always had been.

"Well, enjoy her company, then. And get me tickets to that musical when it opens."

“I’d have gotten those anyway.”

For about 45 minutes after getting off the phone with his aunt, he was in a good mood. Then Darcy called him. “Soooo. . .this thing’s got some legs. High school sweetheart and the leading lady of the Cap musical? People are having a field day.”

He sat down on his couch. “Great.”

"Usually the best thing for this is to issue some sort of statement and up your security until something else gets their attention. You want to talk to your lady and decide what you want to do?"

“She’s not really my lady. Yet. We’re not at that point, anyway. I don’t think. It’s very new.”

"I don't think that'll make an effective statement."

“I don’t think ‘back the fuck off, you nosy vultures’ will go over all that well, either.”

"I mean, HR can probably pretty it up a little. . ."

“I’ll talk to her,” he said.

"In the meantime I'll up security at the Tower and get a couple guys on deck to follow her or both of you if necessary."

“Thank you, Darcy.”

"Any time, kid. And on an unprofessional note, well done."

“Not you, too.” 

"Hey, man, you can people your bed with goats, for all I care. I just think she's hot."

“Sheep,” he replied.

“What?”

“Lion in Winter. He can people his bed with sheep for all I care, and on occasion has.” His powers had done crazy things to his memory.

"Goats are funnier," Darcy informed him.

He chuckled. “I do agree she’s hot, though.”

"Well, sure, you have eyes. Let me know about the statement. I'll keep you posted about security."

Yeah. This was officially fucked up.

*

MJ had intended to spend some time after her costume fitting at the theater working on blocking and going over lines. But given the new wave of media attention - and man, theater people were worse than teenage girls when it came to gossip and teasing - she found herself at Sing Sing instead.

She waited in the stuffy waiting room with a half dozen other visitors before her name was called. The guard who lead her to the little windowless visiting room was younger than her, or at least looked like he was. He kept himself stiff and expressionless. The older guards usually tossed her a smile or a nod. Junior here was taking it seriously. He gestured for her to sit at the bolted down table in the room and a few minutes later her father was brought in and seated across from her.

Chris Jones was in his early fifties. His black hair had turned white and was cut close to his head. He looked a bit like Morgan Freeman, to the point she was unable to watch The Shawshank Redemption without sobbing into her ice cream. When his face was at rest he looked bored at best and homicidal at worst. But when he saw her it split into a grin.

"Hello, dumpling," he said as the guard - a different one than she'd been escorted by, this guy was smile and nodder - locked his cuffs to the table. "This is a surprise."

"Hi Daddy." She reached out with an open palm and touched his hand. The guard pretended not to notice. "I wanted to come see you. I have something to tell you and I didn't want you to see it on the news."

His smile turned horrified. "You're pregnant."

"No, Jesus, Dad, no." That rumor was probably next, though. "I'm. . . . seeing somebody. Famous. It's made the news."

"Who?"

She cleared her throat. "Peter Parker."

"The boy who stood you up at homecoming and made you cry for three days?"

Yep, they had tipped into homicidal. "Yes, but that was ten years ago and he has a really good excuse."

"What possible excuse could be good enough for making you cry?"

She glanced at the guard and said, "Kidnapped by the government."

Dad blinked. "That is a good one."

The whole story came tumbling out of her. The run-in at the Tower, talking to his friends, bringing him sandwiches and then the couch date the night before. "He's really sweet and funny and gentle with me, just like he always was. He was a perfect gentleman."

"I like him better already."

MJ smiled. "It's just. . . I don't know. Weird. A bunch of gossip sites are talking about us. They figured out we were high school sweethearts and are running with it. I'm so busy with the musical and I hate being under a microscope but. . . he's Peter. You know?"

“Life is really short,” he said. “Take it from somebody who’s got a lot of regrets.”

"I know. I know. He just, kinda broke my heart. I figure that's a lot harder to heal at twenty five than at fifteen."

“Anybody you love could break your heart. The only safety is living your whole life alone. You really want that?”

She blew out a breath. "I mean, I have a cat. . ."

He looked down at the table. “I know a lot of this is my fault.”

"It's not." She said it instinctively, even though it wasn't really true and they both knew it. "I mean. Not entirely. You did your best."

“Your earliest impression of a relationship was two people who couldn’t stand each other.”

"Yeah," she said softly. She really didn't remember a time her parents weren't screaming at each other. As a kid she'd blamed that on her dad.

"How is your mother?" he asked.

MJ shrugged. "Same. I brought groceries over a couple weeks ago. She was off her meds but okay. Apartment was clean but not, like, rapid cycling clean." She looked at him. "I know Peter and I aren't you and mom."

“But you’re still afraid.”

"I am. About a lot of things. Some I can't really articulate."

“You have to decide what wins. Fear or happiness.”

She nodded. It was something to think about. "Thanks, Daddy."

“I got a lotta time to think in here.”

"I know. I hope your daughter dating an Avenger doesn't cause you trouble."

“Eh, I’m an old man. They leave me alone.”

"Good." She squeezed his hand. "I'm gonna be busy with rehearsals the next couple months. I might not be able to visit until the summer."

He nodded. “I wish I could see your show.”

"Me too. But hey, maybe we'll still be running when your parole comes through."

“I hope so,” he said with a smile.

He was up for parole the next spring after eight years of a fifteen year sentence. He was a model prisoner, no offenses behind bars, hung out with some of the other old timers who were too rickety for gang shit and posturing. So odds were good he'd get out, especially if she could hire him a good lawyer this time around. But neither of them could count on it.

"I'll send you a Playbill," she promised, as she had for all her other plays. "And any good reviews I get."

"Send me the bad ones too. My hit list is getting short."

“Dad."

“I still look out for you,” he said.

"I know you do. But I can handle theater critics.”

“I believe you can handle anything.”

She smiled. "Well, I learned it from you."

They said their goodbyes, even managed a hug, then she was escorted back to the front desk and given back her stuff. Walking out of the prison, she checked her messages to discover she'd missed a call from Peter and several texts asking her to call him back. She checked the internet to make sure there wasn't a pregnancy rumor she'd missed, then called him from the subway. "I promise I'm not mad at you.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” he replied.

Heading it off at the pass didn't work, duly noted. "It's fine, Peter. Really.”

He sighed. “Darcy wants to issue a statement.” He paused. “And get you some security.”

"Okay. I get the statement, but I'm not sure how I feel about someone following me around.”

“You may feel differently when they figure out where you live.”

That was a good point. Didn't make her any happier about it. "Right. What's the statement going to say?”

“I don’t know. Some variant of ‘Mind your fucking business’. I told Darcy I wanted to talk to you first. You wanna come over and figure it out?”

She pulled her phone away from her face and checked the time. "I'm supposed to be back at the theater at three for afternoon call. But if you agree to feed me, I can come over and chat."

“I’ll go get us burritos from the cafeteria.”

It occurred to her that both Peter and her father lived in buildings with cafeterias, but in very different contexts. "I'll be there in an hour or so.”

“I will get extra guacamole.”

She grinned. "You remember."

“I remember an embarrassing amount of things about you.” 

"When we're done composing our fuck off to the press, I want to hear all about them."

“I don’t know, some of them might be creepy. I was fifteen.”

The implications of that were a little horrifying. "I'm going to hang up before this gets weird. I'll see you soon."

When she got to the Tower, she went to the front desk to check in and request access to the Avengers elevator. The woman told her that she was on the permanent list now and the doors would just open for her without checking in.

She wasn't entirely sure if that was a big deal or not. Obviously, it didn't cost him anything to do it. But she bet there weren't a whole lot of people on that list.

The elevator took her up to his floor and she tapped on his door. It slid open and she could see the burritos on his table from the door, though she didn’t see him.

"Pete?" she called, heading over to the table. She was kind of starving. "I'm going to start without you!  If that's all right say nothing."

He came out of the bedroom, his hair wet like he’d just showered. “Hi, sorry.”

She was absolutely not going to picture him in the shower. "It's no problem. Apparently I'm on the permanent list."

“It’s not like tattoo-permanent. But we’re on elevated security protocol, and I didn’t want you to get hassled. Or sprayed with knockout gas.”

"You know when Stark mentioned gassing I assumed it was a deadly thing."

He laughed. “No, no.” He paused. “I don’t think so, anyway. You met Tony?” 

She nodded, unwrapping the burrito labeled 'extra guac.' "First day I came to meet Nat and the Rogers. He was taking a bunch of kids to a basketball game. Informed me I was at the wrong elevator and told me my name sounded fake when I told him I was on the list."

Peter shook his head. “Sorry. He’s way less of an asshole than he seems to be.”

"I was seriously wondering how he got so much tail in his day."

“You’d be surprised the distance fame and money will get you. I’m pretty sure he _was_ a genuine asshole back in the day. There are plenty of women who gravitate toward that.”

That was probably a good point. She knew plenty of people like that in theater who got all the ass they wanted. She took a bite of her burrito and chewed a moment. "You get a lot of groupies?" she asked finally.

“Will you judge me if I say yes?”

"I'll judge you more if you lie."

“There was a period where they were entertaining.” He took a bite of his burrito. “Casual, fun, no stress. No emotions involved.”

"Yeah, I've been there." Mr. NYU hadn't been the love of her life, nor had the collection of men since. Sometimes you just needed to touch and be touched. Feel your heartbeat and remember you're alive.

His eyes searched her face. “It gets old.”

"Been there too," she told him.

That made him smile. “And here we seem to be.”

"Here we are." She took another bite. "Are we really gonna tell the press to fuck off?"

“Did you have a better idea?”

"I don't know, I don't have any experience with this. I'm just wondering if it'll actually work or just feed the interest?"

“Nothing we say or do will stop the interest. Not anywhere on the spectrum from getting married to having a loud public breakup on stage in the middle of your musical.”

She liked one of those options a whole lot better than the other. "I just. . . I'm not looking forward to figuring this out with an audience, you know?"

“I know,” he said. “I understand if it’s too much. But it is just what comes with me. I’m really famous. I have action figures.”

Now was probably not a good time to tell him she had one. It might come off as creepy. Besides, this was clearly him giving her an escape hatch. Time to bail if she didn't want to deal with the drama. And she really kind of didn't. There was a reason she was a Broadway star and not in Hollywood. It was fine to be semi-famous to a small group. She even did modeling here and there. To suddenly become Spider-Man's Girlfriend. That was a level of fame she didn't aspire to.

Still. This was Peter.

"Okay. So, fuck off it is. How obnoxious is my bodyguard gonna be?"

He looked up, at her, and the look on his face was absolutely worth it. “I will see you have the best bodyguard. Sometimes it will be me.”

"I approve." She cleared her throat and put her burrito down. "I should probably talk to Darcy or PR or someone. There's some stuff in my life they're gonna dig up they'll want to be ready for."

“I can give you her number.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “I know about your dad.”

It didn't surprise her, but she still asked, "How?"

“My Aunt May. She keeps tabs on the local happenings. She lived in the Tower with me for a while, but moved back to Queens. Says Manhattan’s not her town.”

"Yeah, that makes sense." She gave a crooked smile. "I'm guessing Avenger dates daughter of convict will make a great headline."

“You know Nate is like an actual felon? Crime is surprisingly unoriginal these days.” 

MJ nodded. She didn't actually think it'd be that easy. But it was nice of him to be sanguine about it. "My mom is bipolar," she told him, in the interest of putting all her cards on the table.

“The press gets into that and they will get an explicit fuck off that may include lawyers.”

The ferocity in his voice made her smile. "Okay."

“We take care of our own,” he said.

She blew out a breath and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax them. "So. That's out of the way. Now what?"

“I don’t know. What date are we on?”

"Third-ish?"

He looked up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, what do people usually do on third dates?”

“The most common response on internet surveys is sex.”

He put his hand over his eyes. “Thanks, FRIDAY.”

MJ had not known a person could turn that color red. "I have to be at the theater in an hour. I'd hate to have a time limit."

Now he needed both hands to cover his face. “Jesus. I’m sorry. There’s no tact around here.”

She giggled. "God, you're adorable."

He finally looked over at her. “I don’t know that adorable is what I’m going for.”

"It works for you," she told him, lifting a shoulder.

“Adorable is for toddlers and cartoons.”

She took a swig of water to rinse out any lingering burrito taste, then leaned across the table and kissed him. She felt his start of surprise, but then he reached up and cupped the back of her neck, holding her so he could kiss her better. He really was a remarkably good kisser.

Somehow, she ended up on the other side of the table, in his lap. It had probably passed kissing and into making out. She could feel his fingertips on her skin beneath the hem of her shirt.

Lifting her head, she kissed the tip of his nose. "I really wish I didn't have a call to get to."

“Mmm, you could come back,” he murmured.

She kissed him again, lingering. "It'll be late," she warned.

“I’ll wait up all night if you want me to.”

"Mmm. All right." She gave him one more long kiss before getting up. "We can continue later."

“Good luck at rehearsal,” he called after her.

"You're not supposed to say good luck," she retorted from the door.

“There is no way in hell I am wishing you a broken bone tonight.”

She laughed and blew him a kiss, heading out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

This afternoon seemed like a great time to panic clean his apartment. He never, ever brought women here, so it kind of looked like a place occupied by a 25-year-old guy. The living room was mostly livable, but she’d never been past it, and his bedroom was a train wreck.

It took far too long to realize he had no clean sheets. “FRIDAY, how long does the laundry take to turn something around?” The Tower had an automated laundry service somewhere in the bowels of the building. Put your dirty stuff in the chute, and in the morning a little robot delivered clean, folded laundry. It was the only reason his room wasn’t way, way worse.

“Standard laundry delivery is 7 AM.”

“Yeah, I know that. But what if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not a system built for exceptions,” the AI replied.

He rubbed his forehead. “Does anyone up here have a washer and dryer?” Unlikely, but worth a shot.

"Ms. Bishop has a small washer and dryer in her apartment. She does not, quote 'like other people touching my underwear.'" It was a little disconcerting that FRIDAY used Kate's voice for that. 

Okay. There were worse people it could be. He shoved his sheets in one of the pillow cases and went down the hall to Kate and Wyatt’s apartment.

He knocked and heard FRIDAY's voice - probably telling them who was at the door - then Kate yelled, "Come in," as the door slid open.

When he stepped in, he could see her laying on the couch. He stopped and looked at her. She’d been kind of. . .off lately. “Hey, are you okay?”

"I'm fine. I didn't sleep well last night." From what he knew of her past, she probably had nightmares to rival his. She eyed his pillowcase. "What do you need? Are we hiding a body?”

“I need to use your washing machine.”

He could see her deciding whether or not she wanted to know. "Do you know _how_ to use a washing machine?”

He blinked. He had not actually ever used one. Everywhere he’d lived since he was 15 had laundry service. “How hard can it possibly be?”

Kate closed her eyes, sighed deeply and climbed off the couch. "Come on. I'll show you.”

“Thank you. Sorry.” He followed her to where the washer/dryer was tucked into a closet. 

"It's fine. Why do you suddenly need to wash something yourself?”

“I have no clean sheets. And I… need them.” He was aware he sounded like a teenager trying to lie to Mom and Dad.

She opened her washer and peeked to make sure it was empty, then gestured for him to put the sheets in. "Whom are we trying to impress?”

He looked over at her in surprise. “Don’t keep up on the team’s tabloid gossip?”

"I've been out of the loop. Wyatt said something about an actress you were angsting over?" He stared at her. "I know Cassie is in the ‘hates men’ portion of her break up," she offered.

“I am in the ‘I need clean sheets so I can get laid’ portion of my relationship with said actress.”

"Congratulations." He shoved the sheets in and she handled the soap portion of it and closed it. "Hit cycle until 'bedding' is lit up, then hit start. Do you have condoms?”

“Yes, Mom, I have done this a time or two before.”

"You don't bring women here, wasn't sure if you had a proper stash or not.”

Well, they didn’t call her Hawkeye for nothing. “Tony told me once I was too famous to trust a strange woman’s birth control. I have a stash.”

"Good advice." The washing machine started to fill with water. "That'll take about an hour. You're welcome to hang out if you want.”

“No, I have more cleaning to do, thank you. I’ll be back in an hour.”

"Sounds good." She resettled on the couch. "You're welcome to borrow some air freshener, if you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Back in the hall, halfway back to his door, Nate opened his and stuck his head out. “Hey, poker?”

Well, he’d forgotten entirely about that. Explained why Wyatt hadn’t been home. They had kind of a regular poker night, all of the guys. “Can’t, I have plans.”

Nate's brows went up. "You do?”

“I do. I’ve got company coming over.”

A grin started to spread. "Female company?”

“No, I’m skipping poker night so I can wait for the cable guy.”

From inside Nate’s apartment, Eli called, “Hey, no ditching poker for chicks, man.”

At least he hadn't rhymed.

"At the very least you need to come in for a hand and let us tease you," Nate said.

Nate pulled open the door so he could see all of them, who were of course watching him. He sighed and went inside. “Look, this is not ‘a chick’.” He made air quotes.

"MJ?" Nate asked. Peter nodded.

The rest of the boys exchanged glances, then Raf said, "You need help getting your place ready?”

“I. . .actually, that would be totally awesome.”

Another round of looks. Then Wyatt and Eli shrugged and they all got up. "I don't do windows or bathrooms."

From there it…mushroomed. Eli and Wyatt were both former military, which instilled a certain level of neatness. Eli called Tess when he learned Peter didn’t have a vacuum. Raf told a story about life before vacuums, when you had to take your rugs outside and beat them with sticks.

“How do you not own a vacuum?” Tess asked when she showed up. 

“There’s that robot vacuum that comes on Thursdays,” Peter replied. It seemed perfectly obvious to him.

"What do you do if you spill something before then?"

"Cover it with a paper towel until Thursday."

He wished he got a picture of her look of utter horror. "Oh my Lord, I am setting your robot to clean every day. I cannot live knowing that is going on."

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, because what else could he say?

“You know,” Raf said. “Back in the day we only beat the rugs twice a year.”

“Back in the day they put leeches on sick people, too.”

She got to work vacuuming and he went to the kitchen to make sure Nate wasn't throwing away anything good. In the activity, he completely forgot his sheets and was surprised when Kate appeared with a laundry basket full of folded sheets and scented candles.

He was kind of surprised Kate owned scented candles.

"It's not personal," she said, putting one on his kitchen island as Wyatt whisked the sheets off the Peter's bedroom. "Boys are smelly."

“Uh, sorry?”

She shrugged and lit the candles.

"Hey, Peter?" Eli called. "When are you expecting her?"

“She said after rehearsal.” He paused, almost afraid to ask. “Why?”

"Wanted to see if we have time to get fancy."

Peter turned around. “What do you mean by fancy?”

*

It was a really long rehearsal. They went over the second act three times to get the blocking down. MJ used the dinner break to run home and feed her cat and get an overnight bag. It was almost eleven by the time she walked into the Tower, sipping her thermos of hot tea and honey. Natasha's character worked as a sort of narrator for the second act, so MJ was in almost every scene. After going through it three times, she was afraid she'd have no voice left in the morning.

FRIDAY greeted her pleasantly in the elevator and MJ lifted her thermos in toast. It felt weirdly normal, coming here after rehearsal, the AI saying hello. She could get used to it.

The elevator opened again on the Avengers floor and she walked down the hallway. She really hoped no one came out of the other doors, since it was incredibly obvious what she was here for, standing in the hallway with an overnight bag at this hour.

She lifted a hand to knock on his door and it slid open without her having to. She stepped inside and paused. When she'd been here in the afternoon it had looked like the average bachelor pad. Dishes in the sink, jacket tossed on the back of the couch. Nothing too gross, but not exactly tidy. Now, it was spotless. She was pretty sure she'd been in hospitals less clean. The kitchen counters gleamed. There were vacuum lines on the apartment, all lined up neatly. "Peter?" she said cautiously, wondering if she'd somehow wandered into the wrong apartment.

He came out of his bedroom and stopped when he saw her. “Hi.”

"Hey. Did you. . . have a team of maids come in?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, kind of. Accidentally.”

She shook her head, chuckling. "You know I was already planning to put out, right?"

“I was cleaning and the guys offered to help, and it just snowballed.”

"The _guys_ helped you do this?"

“Some of them are really into cleaning, apparently. Oh, and Tess came, too. And Kate.” He made a face. “We’re all just really over-involved in each other's lives.”

"Family often is." She sipped her tea. "So, your whole team knows what's going on tonight?"

“Cassie’s moping and no one wanted to tell her. Ada’s in Wakanda. Otherwise. . .yeah, pretty much.” He was fidgeting nervously.

She chuckled again. "And I was worried about getting caught with an overnight bag." Peter looked a bit like he wanted the floor to swallow him. MJ set her bag down and put her tea on the coffee table. "Hey, FRIDAY?" she said, shrugging out of her jacket. "Play some late teens slow music for me. And dim the lights."

The overheads went low and something she vaguely recognized from her teen years started to play. She walked over to Peter and took his hands, placing them on her hips. "You owe me an awkward high school slow dance," she told him, putting her arms on his shoulders and linking her hands behind his neck.

He grinned. “You know, I’m pretty sure we’re both better dancers than stand-and-sway.”

"I am a professional dancer," she informed him. "I've been doing it for six hours this afternoon. I feel like swaying is just fine."

“They had me do gymnastics and ballet as part of my training. Taught by a terrifying little Russian woman.”

He swayed with her, shuffling their feet a little. MJ tucked her arms a little tighter, pressing closer to him. "Mmm, I've met her. Tough crowd, great cookies."

“I didn’t get any cookies,” he told her, sliding his hands over her back.

"Maybe she likes me better."

He pulled her close enough her body pressed against his, and he had his hands on her ass. “This is about when someone would yell at us for inappropriate dancing.”

"Definitely detention worthy," she agreed, tangling her fingers in his hair. "We should make it worth our while."

“I think tonight we’re going to get expelled,” he said, and then he kissed her. She sighed and tipped her face up, kissing him back. His hands flexed, squeezing her ass and pressing her tighter against him. They were still swaying a little, but one would be hard pressed to call it any sort of dancing. His hand slid under her shirt, stroking her bare skin. It was slow and careful, like they were teenagers again, just figuring themselves out.

Slow was nice. It had been a long time since she'd had slow. She let her own hands roam a little, first over his shirt, then under. He reminded her of some of the theater guys she'd been with. They usually had that lean dancer's build. He felt stronger, though. She'd seen videos of him stopping buses and holding up hunks of buildings. 

He tugged her shirt up. “Can I take this off?”

"Please do," she murmured, sucking on his lower lip. She lifted her arms when he reached them, and he peeled the shirt over her head. She gave his a tug and he pulled it off, too.

That was much better. Far too many teenage nights had been spent wondering what he looked like under his shirt. She ran a finger down his sternum. "You're very pale, Peter."

He chuckled. “Sorry? I’m not much of a sunbather.”

"We should get you somewhere tropical for vacation." She dropped a kiss on his shoulder, then his mouth, pressing against him again.

“I burn,” he murmured against her mouth. He surely hadn’t meant it to, but the way he said sounded really hot. He lifted her up then, like she weighed absolutely nothing. 

This was some old school Hollywood shit. The way he held her, the way he kissed her like he needed her to breathe. For a moment he just stood with her in his arms, then started walking. She kept her eyes closed, getting lost in the kiss and the feel of his skin on hers.

He set her down on a very soft bed and she held on so he settled with her. Then she let her hands explore again. He traced the edges and seams of her bra, seemingly taking his time. Studying her shape. Most men just yanked the damn thing off. He made her wish she owned expensive lingerie. This guy would appreciate $200 worth of silk.

His hands worked under her and she arched her back. He unhooked the bra without looking and she grinned and murmured, "Well done," as he peeled it down her arms.

“That was part of my training, too,” he replied. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, brushing his thumb over her nipple. She hadn’t been wrong about the calluses, that was for sure.

Shuddering, her fingers clenched and released on his shoulder. "Lotta-" She swallowed and continued, "Lotta bra removal in the superhero business?"

“Mmm. . .nope, can’t follow where I was going with that joke. I’ve wanted to see your boobs for like 12 years. I’m having a moment, here.”

"Ah. I'll leave you to it, then." He continued his slow exploration and she closed her eyes to focus on the touch better. With her dad in jail and her mother often unpredictable, she didn't get touched a lot, outside of incidental stuff in a crowd or while working. She hadn't picked up a casual encounter in over a year but even then, like Peter had said, they were entertaining but emotionless. It had been way too long since she'd been this close with someone she trusted.

“God, you are so gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice sounding reverent. He bent to press a kiss into her skin.

She arched up into the kiss, and he did it again. And again. Until his mouth reached her nipple and closed around it. It tightened at the first sweep of his tongue and she shuddered again, burying her hand in his hair to hold him to her. She felt his hand slide under the waistband of the leggings she was wearing, then beneath her underwear, but he didn’t go any further. He just cupped her, taking his time.

Her whole being focused in on his touch. He kissed from one breast to the other, before lifting his head to find her mouth with his again. The kiss was rougher now, more explicit. The sound it drew from her was rougher, too. She braced her feet on the bed and lifted up into his hand.

He took the invitation she offered, bending his fingers to trace around her folds and circle her clit, with the same thorough patience. She let him. She was wet and sensitive and just about everything felt good. He shifted over her and his other hand came up to cup and tease her breast. When he tugged her nipple just a little too hard it made her whole body jerk.

Reaching down, she covered his hand with hers, through her leggings, and nudged his fingers over just a little, right where she liked it. Then it was so perfect her thoughts scattered. She kept her hand there; there was something unbearably hot about feeling him touch her.

"Faster," she murmured, when she was ready to come.

He obeyed, fingers flickering over her rapidly. "Like that?"

"Yes." It came out almost a sob. She pressed her hand into his, holding him against her. Heat spread through her and she shuddered, letting go. Her body shook and pulsed, throbbing with pleasure.

She melted into the bed as it faded. He had his hand spread on her stomach, tracing little circles with his middle finger, just waiting for her.

Finally she opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. Cupping the back of his head, she drew him down for a kiss.

“Hey,” he whispered, and then they kissed again, slow and languid. Eventually he murmured, “So, what’s your usual limit?”

It took her a moment to parse what he was saying. Then another to think it over. "On a good night, two or three. I think my record is six in, like, eighteen hours. Some of that I was asleep for."

“I don’t know that wet dreams count,” he replied. “But I can work with two or three.” He sat up to peel off her leggings and underwear.

She kicked, to help him, then tucked her hand into the waistband of his jeans, giving a tug. "These need to be gone."

“I’m not done with you, yet,” he replied.

"Should I be concerned or aroused?"

He leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her. “If you’re concerned you should tell me so we can stop.”

She ran her nails down his chest and grinned when he squirmed a little. "Don't stop, Peter."

He grinned, and nodded once. Then he bent his head and kissed his way down her body. She knew where he was headed. Of course she did. But he took his sweet time with it and she let herself get distracted. He'd pause to suck a nipple or lick salt from her skin and she'd sigh or moan and close her eyes. It wound her up and blissed her out, until she was squirming with anticipation.

Then she caught her legs in those big hands of his. She didn't remember if she'd thought his hands were big when they were kids, or if that was something adulthood had given him. In any case, they were strong, squeezing the muscles in her thighs as he opened her wide. When he brought his mouth down to her sex she damn near came out of her skin.

It wasn’t the same slow wind up of the first. She was so very sensitive, it was almost too much. Almost, not quite, sitting on that line where she wanted to push closer and squirm away at the same time. She hung on the edge a long time, begging him incoherently to both push her over and keep her there. To stop and to never stop.

Pushing up on an elbow, she watched him a moment, that dark head at the apex of her thighs. This was really happening. That was really him. She was with Peter, finally. That thought alone made her clench and suddenly she was ready. Ready for the foreplay to be over so she could feel him inside her. "Peter." She stroked her fingers through his hair, still watching. "Please, Peter."

It was not a particularly specific directive, but apparently he heard enough in her voice to look up at her. They locked eyes, and for a heartbeat they were both still. There were any number of sexy and/or romantic things she could have said right then. What came out of her mouth instead was, “Seriously, take off your pants.”

He grinned and chuckled—good sex needed laughter, right?—but he did stand up and follow her instructions.

She did manage to keep from muttering "fucking finally" but it was a near thing. He put a knee on the bed and she sat up to meet him with a kiss. "Condoms?"

“They’re in my pants,” he murmured against her mouth.

With a sigh, she ducked away and fished them off the floor, digging in the pockets. "I knew I should have brought in the box I bought."

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I have a box, it was on my nightstand, you know…before.” He gestured at the room.

"I would have preferred messy room and easy condom access," she informed him, ripping open the little foil square she'd unearthed. "For future reference."

“I was nervous,” he replied, watching her intently.

She looked over at him. "Have I given you any indication I don't want to be here with you?"

“No! I just. . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re not _a_ chick. You’re _the_ chick.”

It was kind of reassuring to know she inhabited some special category in his head the way he did in hers. "I know." She sat next to him and curled a hand around his thigh, stroking his skin. "And you're _Peter_. And this is all kind of weird and special and. . . important." She trailed her hand up his leg until she could brush her fingertips along the length of his erection. "But I don't want us to get so caught up in history that we don't enjoy ourselves _now_."

He took a slow breath. “You can do that all night if you want.”

"Mmm." She traced her fingertips along his length. "It's tempting." Curling her hand around him, she stroked him, back and forth, watching his skin flush and his eyelids flutter.

For a minute he just let her. Then he opened his eyes and reached out to take the condom from her. She let him, and then he reached over and picked her up to put her in his lap.

"You're very strong," she commented, wrapping her legs around his waist. "I find that very sexy."

“Good,” he replied. He lifted her again, just enough so he could nudge inside her. He let her rock her hips and sink down at her own pace.

She was swollen and sensitive, so every inch felt incredible. He stretched her ever so slightly, filled her in all the best ways. By the time she was settled on his lap again, he was buried to the hilt and she was panting. He cupped her face in both his hands, and they kissed, messy and explicit. She rolled her hips while they did, a slow, intense grind against each other. 

Everything she wanted was a contradiction. She wanted fast and rough and slow and tender. She wanted to ride him, she wanted him to pin her down. She wanted everything and all of it at once. But there was no way in hell this was their only night together. They had time to do it all and more. So she did what she could now, using all those dance muscles to rock on him, slow and deep. She rested her forehead on his, holding his gaze. "Good," she murmured. "So good."

His hands slid up and down her sides, and he tipped her back a little. It gave her room to move better, and him room to bend and capture one of her nipples in his mouth. It felt like she’d fall, but he held her up without a problem. The change in angle stroked a different spot deep inside her, and her whole body shook. He kept moving her, even when she lost her rhythm.

"Fuck, _fuck_." He moved her faster, tugging her into him a little harder. She held his shoulder, nails digging in painfully, though he didn't seem to notice. Pleasure twisted inside her and she tipped her head back, letting it pour through her. Her body clenched around him and she tightened her legs around him, trying to hold him deep inside as she rode it out.

He pulled her closer, holding her while she came. She needed him too, it was so intense her legs shook. He leaned all the way back and then rolled them over, and it was hard and fast again. He had one of her legs hitched up, and it seemed to stretch out the end of her orgasm until it swelled into another. It was like an echo, just as she felt his body shudder. She held him as he rode it out, just as he'd held her. When he'd stopped shaking he buried his face in her shoulder and she stroked his back. She hummed softly as they caught their breath.

He lifted his head enough so that he could see her face. He stroked her hair off her face tenderly. “Hi,” he whispered.

Smiling, she turned her head enough to kiss his palm. "Hi back."

“You know, people talk about earth-shattering sex and I really thought it was bullshit.”

She laughed, kissing him lightly. "Yeah. That was something else."

“And it’s not even midnight.”

"Guess we'll get to break into our boxes after all."

He grinned and bent his head to kiss her. “Challenge accepted.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peter got up to get them a bottle of water, and when he came back, MJ was fighting fruitlessly to untuck the covers from the bed. She was naked, so he stood in the doorway for a moment and watched.

"I know I have a great ass," she said finally. "But seriously, I can't get this untucked."

“I believe that bed was made by a supersoldier who once had a very anal retentive drill sergeant. And you do have a great ass.” He stuck one hand under the mattress at the foot of the bed and lifted the whole thing up, her and all, so he could pull the sheets out from their hospital corners.

The look she was giving him when he lowered it again was searing. She tugged the sheets down and slid beneath them, holding them up so he could join her.

“So, lifting things does it for you?” He held out the water bottle.

"'It's the ‘gentle with me but super strong’ thing." She accepted the bottle and took a long swallow. "I'm sure I'm not the only one in this building with that particular itch."

“I’m just glad you didn't ask for anything weird. I’m kind of a magnet for that stuff.”

Making a face, she handed back the water for him to drink. "Wow. I bet." She did a high pitched, fake voice. "Oh, Peter, tie me up with your web. Ooo, can we have sex on the ceiling with your industrial adhesive crime fighting goo?"

“Yeah, that’ll take your skin off it you’re not careful.” He took a swig. “Don’t need the web to have sex on the ceiling and/or wall.”

Her brows went up. "Oh?"

Some things were better demonstrated than explained. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “Hold on,” he said, reaching over the headboard to pull them up the wall. MJ squeaked and wrapped her arms and legs around him. It felt like she had a good grip, so he climbed up the wall and onto his ceiling.

She glanced over his shoulder at the bed beneath them, then looked at his face. "I'm going to need you to let me down so I can get all the condoms."

He let go one limb at a time, so he could swing her gently down to drop on the bed. He didn’t want to land on her, so he flipped down onto the floor by the opposite side.

She had that eat-you-alive look in her eyes again. "Yeah, more condoms," she muttered, mostly to herself, before climbing off the bed.

“I’ll tape them to the crown molding for easy access.” His original training had focused on speed and strength and how to do the most damage. When Natasha had turned his training into a rehearsal for cirque du soleil, he’d thought it was ridiculous. Then stealth and grace became his biggest asset. And he could impress girls. 

"Good idea," she called from the living room. She returned a moment later with her bag and thermos. The bag went by the door to the bathroom and she rummaged a moment before returning with her drink and an unopened economy box of condoms. MJ had high hopes for him, apparently. 

He grinned at her. “Well, that should last us the night.”

"If we run out we can get inventive." They settled back under the covers and she cuddled into his side. "I have to be at the theater at ten tomorrow. But my commute from here is a hell of a lot shorter than from home."

“I would love to wake up next to you,” he told her.

She gave an officious little nod and put her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm across his chest. 

Despite their clear intentions to have a night of sex, when he opened his eyes again there was daylight streaming through the windows. MJ was sprawled on her back next to him, arms curled over her head. The sheets had tugged down enough he could catch a glimpse of nipple.

"FRIDAY, what time is it?" he asked softly.

"It's just after eight am," she replied. "Ms. Jones may want to wake soon to shower and eat before going to her rehearsal."

He rolled over onto his side and bent to kiss her skin. “Hey.”

She stirred, and one of her hands moved to tangle in his hair. "It's morning, isn't it?" she said in a husky voice.

“Tragically,” he replied, tugging the sheet down to expose her breast so he could kiss that, too.

The nipple peaked and she sighed softly. "We didn't even open the box."

“We needed the sleep, apparently.” His free hand went wandering, because he hadn’t gotten to touch her nearly enough.

She tugged his hair and he obediently lifted his head to kiss her. Her hand curled around his shoulder, then slid down his back. He felt the light scrape of her nails. “It’s after 8,” he told her.

That got him a little growl. "We could be super quick."

“We could multitask and share a shower.”

"You're a very smart man, Peter," she told him, tapping his forehead. "I always thought so."

He rolled to his feet and scooped her up, carrying her off the bed. “FRIDAY, put the shower on hot,” he said, and then he kissed her. He stopped to grab the box of condoms as he went.

It was probably the least effective shower he'd ever taken. MJ reminded him water was bad for condoms, so they contented themselves with winding each other up while managing to get her hair washed and rinsed. He did a thorough exploration of her body in the interest of getting her skin properly soaped up, leaving her panting and shaking. She made a valiant effort to return the favor but he didn't have her patience.

They ended up against the wall outside the shower, foil packets scattered across the floor, MJ begging in his ear to make her come again.

The wall was marble tile, and they were wet enough to slide against it. He grabbed ahold of the top edge above their heads to pull them up enough they moved more like they did in bed. Pushing and pulling and meeting each other. He could tell when she was close by the way her rhythm faltered and her nails dug into his skin.

"Peter," she gasped, head tipping back. He was beginning to love the way she said his name. The way she repeated it when they were making love. "Fuck, Peter. Make me, make-" Her legs squeezed around him, then her body started to pulse, tightening around him. Her hips jerked, grinding into him as she shook. He thrust harder, trying to get deeper inside her as he came with her.

His fingers broke through the drywall, a hunk of it ripping out of the wall and pulling the tile with it. He managed to knock it away so it didn’t hit them, but it hit the shower wall, shattering the (thankfully safety) glass.

He turned them away, just in case. MJ hung onto him, both of them breathing hard as they came down from their orgasms and the destruction they'd just caused.

Very quietly, he heard her start to laugh.

He laughed too. They’d ended up sitting on the floor in front of the sink, out of the range of the glass. Water was misting them, as it was still running and now where was no door to contain it, he felt MJ shiver from the chill. They were both covered in dust and there were pieces of drywall in her hair. “Sorry.”

Shaking her head, she gave him a little pat. "It's fine. FRIDAY, turn off the water, please."

Once the water was off, he stood and set her on her feet. Carefully he picked the drywall out of her hair. “Guess we should be careful if we try the ceiling.”

"Maybe start with over the bed," she agreed, brushing off her arm. With the water on her skin, the dust was turning to paste. "I think I need another shower."

He eyed the shattered shower and said, “I’m thinking the hand sprayer in the tub.”

"Do you think we can behave?"

“Not in the least.”

"Then I may need to banish you to make me breakfast. I don't think having sex with my boyfriend is an acceptable excuse for being late."

He grinned at that, that they weren’t going to play games with labels. “I will make you a breakfast of champions.”

"Thank you." She gave him a smacking kiss and patted his rear to get him moving.

He dusted himself off as best he could—he could wash off later—and went to throw some gym clothes on. He got as far as his kitchen before remembering most of his cooking involved the microwave. Also someone had reorganized his kitchen (not that it had been organized before) and he had no idea where anything was. 

Maybe they’d go down and get bagels. People would probably take their pictures. He could probably rappel down the side of the building and be back in time, but that was also conspicuous. Spider-Man procures bagels, alert the press. “Hey, FRIDAY, is Kamala around?”

"She's getting Nazneen ready for preschool."

“Do you have any suggestions as to how I might acquire food without going out in public?”

"Several of your teammates are awake and making breakfast," she told him.

“I’m not crashing someone else’s breakfast, they already cleaned my apartment. Though maybe whomever hid my cereal owes me a meal.”

"That was Nate." A pause. "Kamala says she has plenty of french toast, if you want some."

“I do, tell her I’ll be right there,” he said, walking to his door.

When he opened it, she was standing on the other side with a plate.

"I don't have bacon," she said. "For obvious reasons."

“This is perfect, you are a saint. Or whatever Muslims call saints.”

Her brow furrowed. "You'd be amazed how often that comes up." She handed him the plate. "Enjoy."

“Thank you.” He paused. “Hey, do you know who I talk to about, uh, building damage?” He’d be more embarrassed asking, but she was as strong as him, and married to an Asgardian. He’d bet some plaster had been dented.

"Bathroom?" she asked sympathetically.

He did have wet hair covered in drywall debris. “Yep.”

"Call Darcy. You may need to move to an empty apartment while they reinforce everything. And send her some chocolates or something, she grumbles about sex reconstruction a lot."

“This is a common occurrence?”

"Yeah. My place is built so the Hulk could do jumping jacks in it and I know Eli and Tess have some reinforcements. And that's not getting into the Grownups."

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about old people fucking. Thanks for the food, I will call Darcy.”

"Have a good one, Peter." She gave him a wave and headed down the hall as he closed the door.

MJ came out of the bedroom as he was pouring coffee. She was in a loose tank top and leggings, almost identical to what she'd worn the night before and was taming her hair back under a scarf. "That smells great."

“Full disclosure, I did not make it.” He put two plates out, then kissed her when she came close enough.

"You acquired it for me," she said, rubbing her nose against his. "It is sufficient."

They held hands like teenagers for most of the meal, even if it made eating slower. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY said. “But it’s 9:45.”

"Damn," MJ said, shoving one more piece in her mouth and taking a swig of coffee. "I have to go."

“Call me when you’re out?”

"I will." She bent and kissed him. "Have a good day. I'll see you later."

He watched her disappear out his door. He was having a _great_ day.

After washing off with the hand sprayer and putting on real clothes, he debated if he should call Darcy or go see her in person. Before he could make up his mind, FRIDAY informed him that Kate was calling a team meeting. He assumed it was a mission.

He rode down in the elevator with Kam, Raf, and a yawning Nate. "We allowed to ask how it went?"

“Really, really, really well,” Peter replied. “Though I need to have a conversation with whomever helpfully put away my box of condoms.”

"I was not in the bathroom," Nate said neutrally.

The elevator doors opened and they walked down to the briefing room. Most of them were already there, including Kate, who was typing on her tablet. “Hey, Peter. How’d it go?”

Before he could answer, from the end of the table Kam said, “They smashed his shower.” When he turned to look at her she shrugged.

Eli reached across the table and offered him a palm to slap while Tess covered her eyes with a hand.

Cassie came in the door and snuck into a seat. “Sorry, I went to get a pedicure. Walking on the NYC sidewalk is not fun in those paper shoes.”

Kate made a face. "I'm sorry, I should have specified it wasn't an emergency."

“I assumed it was a mission,” she said.

“Yeah, me too,” Peter said.

“You sounded really serious,” Eli added. “I know worried-Kate voice.”

She smiled a little and stood, fidgeting her shirt down. She gave Wyatt a little glance and he nodded. Peter was starting to seriously worry when she said, "I'm pregnant."

There was a moment of silence. Nate muttered, “Holy shit,” and then Kam squealed.

Kate rubbed her head. "Yeah. Sorry. I had a whole speech I was gonna say, but once I stood up it seemed stupid. I'm not quite three months along, but Doc and Tess say everything looks fine. I'm due in November. We're not announcing it outside the the team right now, but if a mission does come up, it's possible I won't be able to go and you guys deserve to know why."

Eli turned to look at his wife. “You knew?”

"I did. I'm her doctor."

Raf leaned over and slapped Wyatt on the back so hard the other man coughed. “Congratulations.”

"Thanks," he wheezed.

Kate rubbed his back idly. "You all know me, so you know I'm not touchy feely. I'm still trying to. . . wrap my head around this. So I apologize in advance if I'm more cranky than usual."

“We hadn’t noticed,” Cassie said.

“Did you tell the Grownups yet?” Peter asked.

"Clint and Nat know. I'm going to tell Steve after this. It will disseminate from there, I'm sure."

“We are going to throw you the _best_ baby shower,” Kam said.

Kate sighed and lowered her head, but nodded. "Thank you, Kam."

There was more fussing and congratulating. Peter could see Wyatt trying to deflect most of it from Kate. He envied the way they seemed to fit and communicate silently. He hoped he and MJ would be like that one day. Though that was probably too early to be thinking about going into the 4th date..

He walked out with Nate while the fussing was still going on. "We're dropping like flies, huh?" Nate said in the elevator.

“Thinking about getting a girlfriend?”

"Is that all I have to do? Think really hard and it'll happen?"

“Maybe she’ll just appear in the hallway.”

"Clearly it worked for you." He shook his head. "I think Kate would have been last on my list for the next to have a kid."

“I was surprised when she and Wyatt hooked up. But it’s. . . good. Maybe none of us are so damaged we can’t go on with our lives.” 

Nate nodded. "I guess if Kate can do it there's hope for us all."

“I am feeling hopeful today,” he replied. He looked over at Nate. “Maybe as hopeful as I’ve felt since the day I realized the voice command system the Program had installed in my suit was in fact the world’s most sophisticated Tin Can On A String and there was someone on the other end of the line.” He didn’t know if he’d ever explained to Nate just how bad off he was when they started passing messages. Maybe Nate didn’t need to be told. But the encoded messages from the void had probably saved his life.

"I had to do so much tap dancing to hide that from the Assholes," Nate said thoughtfully. "Do you know how hard it is to program an AI to play dumb?" He reached over and clapped Peter on the back. "I needed somebody to talk to, too, you know."

“Considering how much you talk? Yeah, I did know that.”

He grinned. "Just remember who your friends are when you're busy with your hot actress/model girlfriend."

“I will still be your wingman. I will always be your wingman.”

Nate looked at him a moment and gave him a semi-awkward but no less heartfelt one armed hug. "Me too, man."

They were terrible at talking about feelings. But they managed anyway. “You wanna go get cart dogs for lunch?”

"God, yes, like three of them."

*

The next couple of weeks were a bit of a blur. Rehearsals got more intense as they edged out of April and into May. MJ spent most of her nights and other spare time with Peter at one of their apartments. They were firmly in the attached-at-the-hip honeymoon period and it was really fun. They spent most of their time at home in the interest of avoiding the press. For the most part it worked. There were a few shots of her going in and out of the theater, or of them getting coffee or ice cream together. It was minor and only helped the hype leading up to the musical opening, so they ignored it.

Rehearsals already ran pretty long these days, and then one afternoon she was having a fitting in the costume shop downstairs when Acosta marched in and asked, “So, would I be a complete lunatic, and would you hate me, if I changed something?”

MJ and Jenn, the costumer, exchanged glances before MJ said, “I think that depends on if we’re talking about changing a few lyrics or changing my employment status.”

“Or her costumes,” Jenn muttered.

He had a copy of part of the script tucked under his arm, and MJ could see it was covered with writing and post-its sticking out between the pages. It may have been a rhetorical question on his part. He hopped up to sit on Jenn’s cutting table. “So apparently Clint Barton finally decided he wanted to talk Quincy. Took him out, bought him vodka, they talked for _four_ hours. Yesterday.”

“And you finally have evidence of the sordid Avengers orgy that’s constantly going on?” The tabloids were _really_ enjoying the excuse to spread rumors about the Avengers again.

“Funny. But yeah, I do want to change a couple lines.” He looked over at Jenn. “And also lose the jacket in Barton’s last scene.”

She sighed and leaned over to flip through her own copy of the script. “You want to replace it with anything or just have shirt sleeves?”

“Shirt sleeves,” he said. He looked back at MJ. “Would you mind staying late tonight with me and Penny and Quincy and seeing if we can kick a thing or two around?”

She and Peter had made plans to go catch a late movie, but he’d understand. “Sure, I just need to make a call.”

Jan hopped off. “Thank you. You are a queen.”

“I try.” Jenn did the last of her pinning and helped MJ out of the costume so she could duck into the dressing room and call Peter.

He promised her he’d keep the home fires burning for her and she could come to his place when she was done, no matter how late it was. 

Working with Jan and Quincy was a lot of fun, even if Quincy seemed a little hung over. Apparently Clint could put away the vodka. He’d given them a very interesting glimpse into his relationship with Nat and working it into the show was challenging and energizing. It was exactly what they needed in the second act to flesh out the characters.

It was after midnight, and a cab seemed wise, rather than walking as she usually did. “Grand Central,” she told the cabbie, not wanting to attract any weird questions.

Before he could pull away, someone opened the opposite back door and climbed in beside her. 

“Cab’s taken, my man,” she said pointedly, curling a hand around the door handle.

He held up his phone like he was filming—he probably was. “I want to ask you some questions about your relationship with Spider-Man.”

“Oh, fuck that.” She held her hand up between him and the phone and pulled out her own to text Peter. _Help. Trapped in cab with wannabe paparazzi._

The cabbie had started driving, oblivious or ignoring what was going on in the back seat. Chuckles The Reporter started asking his questions, which _she_ was ignoring. Macing someone in an enclosed space with you was probably bad, right?

_Stand by,_ Peter texted back.

She hid her phone screen so Chuckles over there couldn’t see it, keeping her free hand up so he wouldn’t get a good shot of her. She knew the more famous actors who did Broadway had tricks to thwart the paps, but she’d never had to bother with any of them.

The cab stopped at a light. She contemplated leaping out, even though objectively it was probably safer in the cab than on a random Manhattan street corner in the middle of night. Then something hit the roof with a thump.

All three of them glanced up. MJ grinned and hit the button on her door window to roll it down.

Peter, who was in his red Mission Suit, stuck his head down so he could see in the cab. “Hey, guy,” he said. He reached a hand down and shot a web out to grab the phone and pull it into his grip, where he nonchalantly crushed it. “Get out. No, wait, pay for this cab, then get out.”

The light changed, and the cabbie started driving again, like none of this was going down and there wasn’t a person on his roof. Because, New York cab drivers. Chuckles stared, open mouthed, at what had just happened. “I-“

MJ held out her hand. “C’mon. Cash, cough it up.”

He dug in a pocket, handed her a couple of tens, then let himself out when the cabbie helpfully pulled over.

MJ looked back at Peter. “Thank you, babe.”

He climbed off the roof. “You want a lift?”

Her brows went up. “Really?”

“Well, I got all dressed up and came down here. . .”

She grinned and handed the cabbie the money the reporter had given her before climbing out of the car. “Promise not to drop me?”

“I do. Hang on one sec,” he said, and walked over to a nearby garbage can to throw the broken phone bits in it. It would have been more dramatic to throw them on the ground. . . but clearly Spider-Man did not litter. It was so dorky and adorably him.

He came back over to her and she slung her bag over her shoulders, so the strap crossed her chest. “How are we doing this?”

“Arms around my neck,” he said, and then wrapped his arms around her. She heard the hiss of his webshooters, and he used the webs to strap her to him.

She put her arms around his neck and braced herself. “That better come off my clothes.”

“This is a formula I use for search and rescue,” he said. “Water soluble.” He shot another one at a nearby building and they swung upwards.

MJ couldn’t help the little shriek that came out of her, but it quickly dissolved into giggles. It had been a long time since she’d been on a good roller coaster, but she was pretty sure none of them had been this fun.

Swinging between buildings was a hell of an experience. So was stopping and kissing a little, back pressed against the dark glass window of some office in the Chrysler Building, 50 floors above the ground.

It was too cold and exposed to do anything more than kiss, but he sure knew how to push her buttons. By the time they reached the Tower her heart was pumping and her face was flushed from more than the wind.

She was glad the common room was empty when they climbed in from the balcony, because neither of them were much for chit chat. She was exhausted and rattled and full of adrenaline and _damn_ did she enjoy peeling him out of that suit.

They ended up sideways on his bed, with her bra askew and her underwear dangling off one ankle. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she said breathlessly.

“I do, don’t I?” He replied with a grin, and she laughed. Then he said, “Though that reminds me, there is a more conventional ‘good time’ I wanted to ask you about.”

Stretching languidly she gestured for him to go ahead.

“Do you know what the Met Gala is?”

She arched a brow. Everyone in the New York scene knew the Gala. It was second to the Oscars as far as showing off fashion. She knew the Avengers went regularly, she’d seen their red carpet pictures in magazines and on websites for years. “Yes.”

“Tony and Pepper are big patrons of the museum. Apparently they give them so much money they let Steve and Sharon get married there even though they don’t do weddings. You have to be invited by the snobbiest of snobs, some socialite who like a hundred years old and she and Pepper hate each other. Unless you buy a whole table. Not to be outdone, Tony buys 3. Quarter mil a pop.”

“Jesus.” She whistled. “I know it’s for charity but. . . damn.”

“I say that every year. They make me go. You wanna go with me?”

For a second her heart stopped, more than it had when they’d been flying through the air. Then she grinned. “Of _course_ I do.”

“You’ll need a fancy dress. There’s a walkway lined with press and they love to take pictures of me.” He looked over at her. “But hey, nice crisp pics of us looking awesome will make the grainy paparazzi pics worth less.”

“That’s true.” She gave him a light shove. “Lemme up, I gotta see if Jenn is still awake.”

He shifted. “Jenn who?”

“Jenn the costumer. She likes me, maybe she’ll make me a dress.”

“It’s. . .” He frowned. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It is 1:04 AM.”

“It’s one AM,” he told MJ, like she hadn’t just heard that.

“Theater people keep weird hours,” she informed him as she clambered off the bed and went looking for her bag.


	7. Chapter 7

Jenn was totally on board. The theme was Old School Hollywood, so she was able to use some of her designs for Peggy's costumes and put together something amazing. MJ was a little nervous, she was definitely going to get her picture taken now. But there was also no way Peter was going to get kidnapped by government agents, so it all balanced out.

Though he clearly worried about her. After the incident in the cab, she was given a driver/bodyguard to drive her to and from rehearsals. She ended up spending more and more time at the Tower, just out of convenience.

She had met all of his teammates, enough to be friendly and hang out with him in that big living room they all shared. But she didn’t talk to any of them independently. So she was surprised when she got a text from Ada Banner. _Gala day hair, nails, make-up and sparklies. 10:30 in the common room. Be there._

Before she could reply there was another. _Also, gossip._

And another. _It’s just girls. And maybe Vision, but he doesn’t gossip. He’s not a girl, but he’s not really a boy. Just likes the sparklies and maybe some nail polish._

_10:30 AM._

_There will be food. We’re women who eat. There’s always spanx._

MJ stared at her phone a moment, then replied, _I'm going to be grilled about my sex life, aren't I?_

_Jesus Christ, NO. I’d like to talk about Peter’s sex life about as much as I’d like to discuss Neil’s. Not that Neil has one. I mean I guess he might. He’s old enough, he’s just, you know, Neil. Don’t want to know either way._

_Got it. I'll see you all at 10:30._

This was not her first red carpet, per se. She’d been nominated for a Tony. But she wasn’t a celebrity or anywhere close to being the favorite. This was going to be a much, much bigger deal. She was actually happy that apparently someone else was coordinating everything ancillary to the dress. She was less than a month from the start of previews and free time wasn’t abundant. 

The night before she slept at Peter’s. Her gown was on a dress form in the living room. His tux was pressed and hanging in the closet. They were floating in the post-sex glow. “Is it weird this feels like a do-over on steroids?” he asked.

"I've been thinking that all week. First time got fucked up? Let's do this one in style."

“The Met Gala is grown up Prom.”

"Can you imagine us at prom? Trying to make out in the back of your aunt’s beater?"

“That car had a terrible backseat, too.”

"It did." She stretched and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Maybe we would have sprung for a hotel."

“I’d think that by senior if not junior prom we’d have been doing, you know, this.” He gestured to indicate the bed.

"Jesus, I hope so. Still would have been doing it in stolen moments when various adults were at work. A nice hotel room for a night? Luxury."

“Yeah.” He looked over at her. “Stolen moments are kind of hot. But I look forward to coming home and peeling you out of that dress as slowly as I wish.”

She grinned. "I have never had sex with a guy wearing a tux. I don't think I know how to get you out of it."

“You’re a quick learner. I have faith.”

Rolling towards him, she kissed him deeply. "I bet you do."

She was, if she was honest, kind of sore in the morning when she headed down to their prep party.

When she stepped into the room, she discovered everyone but Kamala was already there. Given her powers, her being late seemed kind of hilarious.

Ada spotted her and waved. "Hi! Help yourself to the brunch buffet."

She was starving—they’d gotten distracted during breakfast—and the food smelled great. She went to make a plate for herself. “Are the older women coming?”

“Like Sharon and Amanda and them? They have their own thing they do together.” Ada pointed at the ceiling. “They’re up in the penthouse. I’m crashing with Cassie this week, it is _super_ crowded and loud up there when all the Starks are here. We’ll go up to get jewelry later in the afternoon.” 

Well, that took some of the pressure off. She liked Nat and Sharon, but they did kind of fall into the category of "Mom" in her head. She took a seat on the couch and dug into her eggs and toast. "This is definitely a level of pampering I could get used to."

“Stick around, we do this whenever we have fancy stuff,” Kate said.

MJ looked over at her, sitting in a chair flipping through a magazine. "Is there a lot of fancy stuff?"

“There’s this every year. We also go to other charity things—and we put in appearances at the benefits Stark Industries throws. It’s good PR.”

“And there seems to be a rash of weddings,” Cassie said.

"I think those are on pause for the time being," Kate called.

Tess tsked her tongue at her and said, "Living in sin," in the most southern voice imaginable.

“And having an illegitimate child. Do you need some pearls to clutch?”

"I'll just gossip about you after church."

“We do also do other girly things together,” Cassie said. “Seems like you guys are kind of serious so we thought if you might be going to extend the invite.”

"That's very nice of you, thanks." They were pretty serious. That should probably make her panic a little, but she'd known it was inevitable after that first kiss in her apartment. "I'm kinda swamped for the next month or two, but would love to have a social life again someday."

“And we promise not to interrogate you,” she said, then added, “until Kamala gets here.”

As if on cue, the elevator door opened and Kamala appeared, her daughter Nazneen on her hip. "Hi, sorry. Negotiations took longer than expected."

“Negotiations?” Ada asked.

"She's three. Everything is a negotiation." She set the little girl down and steered her toward the food.

“Come on, now, don’t scare Kate,” Tess said.

She waved a hand. "I'm not afraid, Wyatt is the most patient person on the planet. And I'm a sniper. We can just tag out when it gets hot."

“Hey FRIDAY, lock the door,” Ada said.

“Thank you,” Kamala said, coming over with two plates to set on the coffee table. She sat and unwound her headscarf. “I’m going to do something complicated with my hair. Raf likes disassembling it.”

MJ had literally never seen her without a scarf on. Her shoulder length hair was thick and shiny. "Uh, is it okay if I'm here?"

Kam waved a hand. "Unrelated women are fine, it's really just men. But thank you for asking."

“Dudes are so weird,” Ada said. “Tell them they can’t see something and they make a kink out of it. And visa versa. If it’s free, then they’re not as excited. Wakandans are pretty casual about women being topless in the heat, so boys are a lot less obsessed with them.” 

"On our wedding night, he was more interested in getting my scarf off than my dress," Kamala admitted.

"There's something to be said for anticipation," MJ piped up. "Peter waited over a decade to see me naked."

“I hope he didn’t tell you he hadn’t seen anyone naked,” Cassie said, and Kate kicked her.

She laughed. "No. He was very honest about his groupie phase."

“A lot of us did it,” Cassie said. “They had us so oppressively supervised, and originally totally isolated. You get touch starved. We all went a little nuts, in our own ways.”

"He told me some of that. He said Nate made him an AI and they used to talk through them."

“They were worse to some of us than others,” Kate said. “I think they were probably the worst to him.”

MJ wasn't entirely sure how much they knew. They were his family, but he'd told her he hadn't told many people. "From what he's told me, I believe that."

Kate sighed. "That was my fault. Mine and Cassie's, I guess. Eli was ordered to join and Nate was going to prison and happy to make a deal. But when they approached me I gave them a hard time. Told them I was rich and had a sympathetic motive for what I did. I could take my chances at trial."

"And I told them my dad had been to prison and done just fine," Cassie piped up.

"So when they went to Peter, they didn't let him say no."

“None of us have ever heard the details,” Kamala said. “Maybe Nate has. But that alone is likely an answer.”

“They could have taken my suit,” Cassie said. “There are other snipers. But they needed him. They had some harebrained idea that we could take on the real Avengers. Someone had to have a passing chance of surviving a fight with the Hulk.”

And that had to be Peter. She'd seen firsthand how strong he was. And Nat had mentioned that he'd given them a run for their money when the two teams had met and fought. It did explain why they'd treated him the way they had. She still kinda wanted to punch some people.

Kamala clapped her hands. "This is a gloomy topic for such a nice day. Ada, who're you bringing tonight?"

Ada grinned widely. “Prince Charming.”

Everyone looked as confused as MJ felt, except Kamala, who whipped her head around to look at Ada. "Wait, seriously? He's coming?"

“His plane is on its way in—and going back out tomorrow.” 

"That's awesome!"

MJ raised a hand. "I'm lost."

"Ada's best friend is the prince of Wakanda," Kate explained.

“I was kind of seeing this girl,” Ada said. “I was going to ask her, but just mentioning it I got this long rant about the evil embodiments of capitalism. She probably wouldn’t enjoy watching us parade around in designer gowns and giant diamonds. So we broke up, and I called Azi and complained until he volunteered to come. Plus I promised to take him to Philly tomorrow for cheesesteak.”

“You broke up with her because she wouldn’t go?” Cassie asked. MJ noticed Ada talked really fast when she was excited and people often needed clarification.

“I broke up with her because I have too much money to date an angry Communist activist. It doesn’t end well.” She shook her head. “This is like the third one. Maybe it’s time to try a different gender for a while.”

“You do have kind of a type,” Kate said. “Though your taste in men is dead opposite. They’re always rich kids who wear loafers.”

Ada looked at her. “Is it really that specific?”

“Yes. Flannel shirts or Ferragamo loafers. All of them that I’ve seen.”

MJ had noticed that Kate was very, very observant.

Ada frowned. "Men who wear flannel smell."

"What are your thoughts on theater people?" MJ asked. "I know lots of them."

"That _would_ be new."

“They would have certainly been thrilled to be invited to the Met Gala.”

"Well, Azi will look very good on my arm. But I may take you up on that later."

Kate was looking at her phone. “So the salon people are going to be late.” She looked up. “How would you guys feel about running on a quick shopping trip?”

"I'm always up for shopping," Cassie said.

"What are we shopping for?"

Making a face, Kate said, "I need a new bra."

“Today?” Cassie asked.

"Yes."

"Why on-"

"Because I'm three months pregnant and my boobs grew overnight, okay?"

“Friday, bring one of the cars around front,” Ada said. “You know, this is thing for the Grownups. The women all go shopping for fancy lingerie.”

"Trust me, I thought about asking Pepper for the Am Ex."

Ada grinned and bounced to her feet. "Don't worry. I have one."

Twenty minutes later, they were in an exceedingly fancy lingerie store. The kind where that was all they sold, and wasted a ton of unoccupied floor space to do it. A New York rule was that the less stuff was in a store, the more the stuff cost. 

MJ gamely followed the group around, poking at the occasional bra. There were some absolutely gorgeous ones that Peter would probably love peeling her out of. But they were all way out of her budget.

Ada appeared at her side. “Hi. You should get something. Call it a welcome gift.”

"That's nice, but some of these cost like three weeks’ salary."

“I have Uncle Tony’s credit card, and Peter’s his favorite. He’d want his girlfriend to have the best underwear.”

Well, she wasn't going to say no to free underwear. Even if the idea of Stark buying it was a little creepy. "Well, thank you. I'll start browsing in earnest."

Ada grinned and skipped off. Literally, she skipped a little. 

Vintage-y stuff seemed very in. It would be part of the costume, really. And she would have totally bought something fancy from Victoria’s Secret for Prom. It would have cost $35 and she would have considered that extravagant.

She joined Kate and Tess in the dressing rooms to try on her choices. She hadn't had a big group of female friends in a long time. Not like this anyway. There were some old costars and fellow chorus girls she was still in touch with. But that was more of a drinks or coffee thing. There were none of them she'd pop half naked out of a dressing room for and ask for bra and panty opinions.

And lord, did they have opinions. Though the frequency with which Kate/Cassie/Kamala said to the others, “Just don’t think about it” was kind of funny.

Her dress was brightly colored and tailored to fit with some interior corseting, so just about any color and style worked. She ended up in a blood red and black lace set that wouldn't have held her breasts up in anything less structured than her gown but was sure to make his eyes bug out. Taking Ada at her word, she snagged a dark purple slip for another night.

Ada paid for everything without even asking the total, and the car took them back to the Tower. The team from the salon had arrived by the time they got there. Very soon she was sitting on a comfortable sofa, soaking for a pedicure and browsing lipstick shades. 

One of the hairdressers came over. "I'm finishing up with Kamala and then it'll be your turn. Have you thought about what you wanted?"

She'd been thinking about having them tame it into little finger waves. It could be done, but it required a truckload of gel and patience. It would go well with the theme and would be glamorous. She thought about her red bra and bright dress and said. "You have anyone who can do a proper afro?"

To her surprise, the woman grinned. "I can do that."

*

Insisting she wanted him to get “the full effect” but not wanting to go home to Queens, MJ had kicked Peter out of his apartment. So he took his tux and went to shower and get ready at Nate’s.

When they had first started going to these events Stark had taken them suit shopping. Peter had never thought he'd be a man that owned multiple tuxes, or, really, any tux. But after a remarkably impassioned lecture from Tony about the difference between black and white tie, he had obligingly stood and gotten measured.

"I will admit," Nate said, fidgeting his cuffs into place, "we look good."

“Even more than usual,” Peter agreed.

"Excited for your do-over prom?"

He couldn’t tell if Nate was sincere or teasing. “Look, I know it sounds silly…”

"No, no. Prom is like, an important thing in your high school life. Everyone has prom stories." He sat on the edge of the couch to put his shoes on. "I went to my junior prom. With Elsie Sinclair. Blonde girl. Millions of freckles. We went to a friend's house after and she let me get to third base. It was awesome." He looked over at Peter. "You got a lot of your moments stolen from you. I'm glad you're getting a chance to try again."

He ducked his head. He should have known Nate would understand. “Thanks.”

"Cassie texted me, said the girls had a good time with her."

“I heard about that, she was nervous.”

"I guess they are intimidating, en masse."

“Some of them are intimidating individually, too.” Mostly Kate.

“Speaking of intimidating women, I met one in the gym today who was, like, juggling with the big dumbbells.”

“I assume the Wakandan Prince travels with an entourage.”

Nate's brows went up. “I think it’s just her. She said she was his bodyguard.” Then he looked off to the side like he did when Hiro was talking to him. Karen was only in Peter’s suit, but they’d actually implanted something in Nate’s brain so he was connected to Hiro all the time. Hiro was chatty. “Limos are downstairs,” he said.

"I'll go get MJ, see you down there."

Nate gave him a little salute. "Try to keep your jaw off the floor."

He fussed with his jacket, and then went down to his door. “FRIDAY, ask her if I can come in?”

There was a pause, then without a word, the door slid open. "One sec," she called from the bedroom. "My shoe is problematic."

“I am waiting with bated breath,” he called back.

He rocked on his heels and poked at the now empty dress form as he waited.

"Okay," MJ said from the bedroom doorway and he turned to look at her.

Her dress was cut very forties housewife style, but exaggerated. A deep V neckline gave him a hint of black lace on her bra. The skirt was full enough he wondered if she had petticoats on. It was a bright coral red with tiny orange polka dots and matching orange gloves that went up to her elbow. Her skin seemed to glow and he couldn't tell if it was from the color of the dress or if she'd dusted herself with gold powder or something. Gold bangles jingled on her wrist and she had a necklace with a big hunk of amber at her throat.

Her hair was in a cloud around her head, which didn’t go with the era of the dress at all but was somehow perfect. He was quite literally speechless. All he managed to get out was, “Wow.”

She grinned widely. Her lipstick was coral as well. "Thanks."

He came towards her. “Seriously, you look amazing. I’m in awe.”

"I'm not sure I would have looked this good at prom," she admitted, smoothing her hands down her stomach. "But it's probably the grown-up, on steroids version."

“I’d have been just as awed.” He offered her his arm. “Limos are here.”

"Awesome." She tucked her arm through his, holding a little red clutch to her chest with the other hand. "Let's go show 'em how it's done."


	8. Chapter 8

Loading into the limos required some shuffling—whomever ever had assigned them failed to account for how this year’s theme would increase skirt volume. Ada’s dress was so big she had trouble getting it through the car door. Peter and MJ had Tess and Eli in their car. On the drive over, Eli told the story of the designer who made Tess’s dress originally wanting to do a Gone With the Wind theme.

“She thought it was so perfect with the southern accent.” 

"Oh my _God_ ," MJ said.

Tess shook her head. "I tried to convince her it was the wrong kind of Southern and she argued with me. Then I finally told her I wasn't going to a party with my black husband dressed like a slave owner."

"I was not aware a person could turn that red," Eli commented.

The divider to the driver’s compartment slid down, and the driver said, “We’re next.” Red carpet drop offs were like a very busy fast food drive through. You didn’t linger and block the lane.

The line attendant opened the door and Eli climbed out first, reaching out to help Tess toward a flurry of photographers. Peter climbed out when they'd moved away and held a hand out to MJ. She curled her fingers around him and got her feet out, then slid gracefully out of the limo onto the carpet. There was a wall of photographers they were expected to stop and pose for. He squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

"As I'll ever be." She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek before tucking her hand into his elbow. He covered her hand with his and they walked forward into the mob.

Most of the red carpet walk was up a very long flight of stairs to the front of the museum. The girls had complained that it was kind of terrifying, to climb stairs in heels and a fancy dress while 200 cameras were trained on you. Hell, it made Peter a little nervous. But he could see the performer take over in MJ. She had a role to play right now. 

He knew they were photogenic and popular. Their romance was a cute story that the press loved. It was slow going up the stairs because everyone stopped them. MJ had mentioned she'd done some modeling before getting cast for the Cap musical. It showed now. She smiled and turned and posed subtly. A couple times she even nudged him to do the same.

"It'll be more flattering, trust me," she murmured in his ear.

“I don’t have any unflattering angles,” he replied. But he did what she told him.

They finally reached the top of the stairs and the relative peace of the museum. They still had a lot of people smiling and coming up to them, but at least there weren't any more photographers.

He’d been to this thing for a number of years, with whomever he happened to be dating. It was always just some random girl, who got in the shots because people had taken pictures of him. None of them ever wore elaborate gowns. But he’d felt a little like he was _her_ date, or at the very least like they were a set. Which felt…comforting. Like this wasn’t remotely the last time they’d do something like this. He hadn’t realized how jealous he was of the others who came here with someone they loved until he was on the other side.

The Gala had a vibe somewhere between the worlds’ most elaborate prom, a royal wedding, and an Oscars after party. The team all sat together, in long tables full of fancy glassware and giant centerpieces. 

“Have you ever noticed it’s always the same chairs?” Wyatt asked as they sat. “This thing, your wedding,” he said, gesturing at Kamala, “Dinner at the White House, movie awards, high school dances on that Canadian teenage soap opera my mother pretends she doesn’t watch. Chairs are always identical.”

"Chiavari," Kate said, and he looked over at her. "They're called chiavari chairs." He was still staring. "Do you know how many society things I helped my mom plan? I know about rental chairs."

"You'd think a place like this could rent more comfortable ones," Eli muttered, shuffling his a little.

“There are no other ones. Unless you want folding chairs or metal hotel chairs.”

“I want whichever one I don’t have to fear breaking,” Eli replied.

"Maybe Wakanda should start exporting vibranium ones," Ada teased.

“Oak or steel is perfectly sufficient, thank you.”

“Speaking of things from my homeland,” Azi said, holding up a bottle Peter could only assume he’d hidden somewhere in Ada’s dress. “I’ve brought wine.”

Oh, it was going to be _that_ kind of night. “Smuggled booze,” MJ said. “They’re really emulating the whole prom experience for us.”

“There better be some of that left when it gets down here,” Tony yelled from the far end of the table, followed almost immediately with Amanda and Pepper saying “No!” In perfect unison.

MJ looked baffled, Kate explained, "Wakandan wine is strong enough that the enhanced people can feel it, but makes Tony act stupid."

"I heard that Bishop!"

"You were meant to, old man!"

“At my high school prom, the chaperones were also drunk,” Wyatt said. 

When the bottle made its way down to them, MJ passed it along like most of the normals. “I’ll be buzzed enough with the regular wine, thank you.” She put it in front of him. “You should have a glass.”

“I will,” he replied. “Drunk sex in formalwear sounds fun.”

Cassie clapped her hands over her ears. "Lalalala."

Nate threw his hands up. "Oh for God's sakes. He has sex. We all have sex. Everyone at this table has had sex. Grow up."

"I'm really glad you can now say that without me glaring at you pointedly," Kamala commented, taking a sip from the bottle as it passed her.

“Forget people screwing,” Cassie said. “Are you _drinking_?”

“Sex, booze,” Peter said. “What’s next, rock-n-roll?”

“I was hoping for visible ankles,” Nate said.

"I am married, a mother, and going to live for three thousand years." She handed the bottle to Raf. "The Koran tells us to do works that bring peace and goodness. I don't think a sip of wine will get me dancing on the tables. I do intend to skip the bacon wrapped scallops, though."

“We were all at your wedding, booze is in no way required for crazy dancing among your kin,” Tess said.

"My people know how to party."

Dinner was served not long after—they always had celebrity chefs and fancy menus, but in truth any food that had to be made to serve 700 people at the same time was never going to be five star. Then the various musical guests started, and people were free to wander the different rooms of the museum. An enormous dance floor had been set up in the Great Hall, and Kamala was the first to get up. She had a lot of energy. “Anybody coming?”

“I will,” Ada said, standing and then pressing two of the stones in her her dress’ studded waistband. Her dress made a hydraulic hissing sound, deflating, tucking and folding in on itself, until it was a quarter of its previous size.

Peter leaned over to MJ. “You don’t have one of those in your skirt, do you?”

"No, mine was made by a theater costume department, not a super genius.”

“Think you can still dance in it?”

“It was made by a theatre costume department. I could do a gymnastics routine in it.”

He grinned and stood, holding his hand out to her. She took it, scooting her chair back to stand as well. "Though if that singer doesn't stop using vibralto every third note I'm going to knock her off the stage and take over.”

“She’s a pop starlet without her auto-tune. They shouldn’t have asked her to sing songs from before they had auto-tune.” The song was slow, they all were. The Met Gala was old and traditional and the kind of event where people still waltzed. There wasn’t going to be anything to get rowdy too. But that suited him just fine. The wine had hit him, and he knew how to waltz.

He slid an arm around her waist and she cupped the back of his neck. She knew how to waltz, too, better than he did, so between them it looked effortless. MJ was warm and soft against his chest and smelled faintly of vanilla. Everything was just perfect.

“This is a worthy do over,” he murmured. “Isn’t it?”

"Absolutely," she replied. "This is really nice.”

“There are after parties. Most of the Grownups will probably go home. Most of our team will be out all night.” He was pretty sure Kate and Wyatt wouldn’t, she’d looked like she was ready to fall asleep by the end of dinner. 

"Do you want to go to the afterparties?" she asked. "Or do you want to take me home and see what I have under this dress?”

“The second one is a higher priority.” He kissed her. “We could duck out early, go home and… change, see if we’ve got any energy left in a couple hours.”

"I'm not much of a partier. Quiet evening at home sounds fun." She tilted her head so he could kiss her throat. He was surprised to find she tasted a bit like vanilla, too.

Grinning at the look on his face she said, "Flavored body shimmer." She leaned close and whispered in his ear, "I put it _everywhere_.”

He inhaled, trying not to let his mind run with that. “You think you can stuff this dress in a taxi?”

"Mmm, we're very smart, I'm sure we'll figure it out.”

“Go get your purse and meet me at the Egyptian temple in ten minutes. I’m going to figure out how to get us out of the building without marching past the paparazzi. Normally if I’m sneaking out of somewhere I just go down the outside of the building, but…” He gestured at the dress.

She glanced down at herself, then back at him. "Are you concerned about volume or obviousness? 'Cause I could take out the petticoats for the sake of some vicarious Spider-Manning.”

“Little bit of each. Mostly I just don’t want to ruin the wrapping paper before I open the present. Later I can carry you all the way down the side of the Tower if you want.”

"I'm holding you to that." She kissed his cheek and separated. "I'll see you in Egypt.”

He fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Nate. _Can you ask Hiro if this place has a discreet back door somewhere?_

There was a pause before an answer. Peter scanned the crowd, hoping to spot Nate, but didn't see him. Then his phone buzzed. _Hiro is asking inappropriate questions about your love life. But he says your best bet is through the catering exit. He can also temporarily shut off the fire alarms, if you want to coordinate sneaking out a fire exit._

_I’d rather a fire exit than the kitchen. Feel free to tell him I’m going home to wash my hair._

_This prompted him to tell me he likes her hair. It's perfectly symmetrical. Okay, find a door, lemme know when you're ready._

_Are there ones that open out to the park behind us?_

_You know I was in the middle of flirting and now there's maps of the museum in my head. You suck._

He winced. _Sorry. I can find a map somewhere._

_It's fine. You just owe me. Go to the American wing, find the Classics Gallery. There should be a door right next to some big display of plates._

_I will buy you the finest scotch in Manhattan._ He made his way back to the Egyptian room.

_That's a start._

MJ was waiting for him, purse tucked under her arm. "You look very serious," she told him when he reached her.

“I’m a terrible friend.”

Her brows raised. "What did you do?” 

“I accidentally cockblocked him with our escape.” He inclined his head. “Come on.”

She took his hand and he lead her back through the museum till he found the gallery Nate had told him about. _I'm here._

_Alarms going down now. You have fifteen seconds._

He opened the door and no alarms sounded. He ushered MJ out and closed the door. They were on an asphalt path that led into the darkness of Central Park. _Two bottles,_ he texted Nate.

_That's more like it. Have good sex, as Ada says._

*

Walking in Central Park at night was not the sort of thing MJ would have ever found a relaxing experience, but at the moment she felt absolutely safe. So it was actually kind of a romantic stroll. Peter took his jacket off and put it over her shoulders, and untied his bowtie—which turned out to be a real one. People wore clip-ons to prom.

"This is a good look," she commented, gesturing to the shirt sleeves and loose tie. "Very James Bond."

He sketched a bow. “Why thank you.”

She squeezed his hand. "Did you have fun at our do-over dance?"

They emerged onto 5th Avenue. “Absolutely. Did you?” 

"I did. Your family is fun."

That made him smile. “Yeah, they are.” He stepped off the curb to hail a cab.

It took some maneuvering, but they got her dress into the taxi and headed towards the Tower. "You're too far away to make out with," she said, over the froth of skirt.

“We’re not far from home,” he said, but then a moment later she felt his hand on her knee, beneath all the fabric.

She grinned knowingly at him, reaching across the back of the seat to play with his hair. His hand slid up her thigh, until he reached the top edge of her stockings and the garters that held them up. He turned his head towards her and raised his eyebrows.

"I am full of surprises," she said softly.

He traced the lace along the top of the stocking. “I have never doubted that.”

"You like to unwrap me. I figured the more layers the better."

He slid his hand higher, following along the garter. Not so high as to be indecent, but high enough to make her think indecent things.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

They pulled up in front of the Tower and Peter hopped out to come around her door and help her. "Next time, less skirt," she promised.

“I _love_ this dress.” He offered his arm again, and they went in just like they’d gone into the Met, only without cameras.

The building was pretty empty this time of night, especially with all the residents out and about. In the elevator, she paid him back for the hand on her thigh with a very explicit kiss. The groan that got her was very gratifying.

They went down the hall to his apartment, the door sliding open for them. The lights were warm and dim, like candles or old Edison bulbs. Soft music was playing out of the ceiling speakers. Clearly he’s set it it up beforehand to be waiting for them. 

"Very romantic," she told him, sliding his suit jacket off her arms to toss on the back of his couch.

“Thank you,” he replied, looking proud of himself. He was pulling off quite a bit of suave tonight, but there was still plenty of dork in there.

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, deep and intense. She really loved kissing him. He put a surprising amount of fire into it. It was foreplay all on its own some nights.

“So tell me,” he murmured against her mouth. “How does this dress come off?”

"There's a bit of lacing and hooks at the back. We either need to lift it over my head or you need to pick me up out of it.”

“Turn,” he told her, and when she did so he seemed to find the fastenings with no problem, and slid it down off her arms. He kissed her shoulder and then he framed his hands around her waist and lifted her up. It was the sort of thing that absolutely should not be graceful, but he lifted her like a professional dancer.

She curled her legs up so she'd clear the dress, then straightened them again as he turned and set her down. Then she turned to face him to get his reaction to her lingerie.

She could actually see him swallow. “Wow. I mean…” He took a step back, eyes raking her and nearly singeing her skin. “Wow.”

The garters had totally been worth it. She reached out and unfastened one of his shirt buttons. "You want me to keep it on?”

He nodded, and then he kissed her, probably because he couldn’t speak. His hands moved over her body, over the lace and silk. Blindly, she worked on his clothes. The vest was weird; she got the buttons opened, but then it seemed to also be somehow attached to his pants.

Finally, she leaned back a little to look at the mess she was making. "Peter, I'm gonna get the kitchen shears in a minute if you don't help.”

He laughed. “Right, right. It’s super weird. But it’s bespoke and probably terrifyingly expensive.” He undid two hidden buttons connecting the pants and the vest, and peeled off the vest. He pulled out the shirt studs and cufflinks and dropped them on one of the end tables. She did manage getting the shirt off his shoulders on her own.

"That reminds me," she said, pressing a kiss to his collar bone. "If you don’t want to remove the bra and panties don't rip them.”

“I think we’d both be disappointed if I didn’t take the bottoms off.”

"You could probably move them aside, but point." She ran her hands down his sides to hook her thumbs in his waistband. "Do your pants come off normally?”

“Why would they?" They opened from the side, and he sat down to take his very shiny shoes off before losing the pants.

When he was stripped down to his boxers - with very obvious evidence of his excitement tenting the front of them - she stepped close and nudged him so he sat back down on the couch. He blinked up at her, and the look on his face was. . . very flattering. She bent to kiss him, bracing her hands on his knees, before slowly sinking to her knees and tugging his boxers down.

He opened his mouth like he might say something, but before he could get out a sound she ran her tongue along the length of his cock. The sound he made was damn near feral, and she took it as an invitation to slide her mouth around him.

He made the sound again, and plunged his fingers into her hair. She was aware that right now it made a hell of a handhold. Their foreplay tended to focus on her more than him. She was often tired and worn out from rehearsals and he enjoyed winding her up. But this would almost certainly be their last leisurely night for a while and she wanted to spoil him.

She tried to keep it slow, but he started to lift his hips and she gave in, moving faster. His hands tightened and he gasped out something that might have been her name. But she'd seen first hand his rebound time and wasn't worried about missing out on any fun. So she looked up at him through her lashes and hummed against him. He let go of her hair and dug his fingers into the couch cushions instead. He held her gaze as long as he could before tipping his head back as he came.

When he relaxed back onto the couch she released him and rocked back on her heels, licking her lips deliberately. She rubbed his knee, waiting for him to collect himself. She noticed he’d ripped up the leather beneath the spots where his hands were.

He still looked a little dazed when he looked at her. “You are really good at that.”

She grinned. "I'd make a joke about oral exercises but I don't think your higher brain function is working yet.”

“No.” He looked down at this hands. “I ruined my couch.”

"I saw." She leaned up to kiss him. "I appreciate you letting go of my hair.”

To her surprise he pulled her into his lap and then stood up. “Bedroom.”

"Yes, please." He kissed her as he headed for the door. She decided to turn the key a little more and murmured in his ear, "Getting you off made me very wet.”

That got her a sharp sound of air leaving his lungs. He carried her into the bedroom, and set her down next to the bed. He cupped one breast in his hand and said, “I’m very torn about this lingerie.”

"I sympathize." Her nipples tightened, scraping against the lace and making her shiver. "I promise to wear it for you again.”

He dipped his thumb beneath the top edge the cup, running it along her skin. “I like that I can touch, and I can see.” His other hand drifted down her side, over the garter belt. “But I like you naked.”

"I can leave the garters on," she told him, curling her hands over his shoulders to keep her steady. "And the important parts can get naked.”

He found the edges of her panties, which she’d put on over the garter belt so he could get them off. She’d worried if it was difficult he’d accidentally rip them. But instead he peeled them slowly off her hips. “Sit.”

She took a step back and perched on the edge of the bed, lifting her feet so he could slide the little scrap of silk all the way down her legs. He trailed his hands all the way back up, reminding her of that very first night. He moved them over to her inner thighs and pushed her legs open wide, exposing her to cool air. His fingers strummed over her. “You are wet.”

Sucking in a breath, she tipped her head back. “Very."

“Mmm.” He kissed her thigh. “I’m going to do this anyway.”

"Oh, God, please do." She felt his mouth brush her curls and her legs trembled. He licked her, stroking her clit and she buried her hand in his hair, holding him to her. He slung her legs over his shoulders, and then she felt his fingers inside her.

They hadn't been together that long, but Peter was smart and skilled. He knew all her spots, all her patterns. In minutes she had flopped back on the bed, moaning, as he drove her higher. And God, he was patient. He brought her a hairsbreadth from her peak twice before slowing down, calming her, only to wind her back up. On the third rise she dug her nails in hard enough it might have hurt and he stayed right where she needed him.

"Peter, Peter-" she gasped his name, then bucked up into him, heat pouring through her. He licked at her even as she came, clenching around his fingers and pulsing against his mouth, drawing the climax out endlessly.

Afterwards, she kind of melted off the bed and into his lap on the floor. They kissed lazily; she always found tasting herself in his mouth somehow very hot.

He was half hard again already and she rocked deliberately against him as they kissed, feeling him swell just from the feel of her. She'd had a good number of lovers, many of them very skilled. But she swore she'd never had this searing need with anyone but Peter.

"Condom," she gasped against his mouth. "I need you fucking me.”

He reached over to grab the nightstand drawer where they lived, pulling the whole thing out. He stuck one between his teeth and then picked her up and turned her around so she was in his lap facing the other way. Then he unhooked her bra and slid it off her shoulders.

Things blurred for a little bit. Somehow they got the condom on him. Then he lifted her up again, like she weighed nothing. Then he was sliding between her sensitive folds and into her heat. Her body stretched around him, not used to this angle or depth. He seemed to fill her up. Leaning back, she turned her head to catch his mouth in a kiss. "Right there," she murmured. "You belong right there.”

He cupped one breast, and the other hand between her legs, one finger stroking over her clit. Then he just rocked them slowly while they kissed. Given the way he'd looked at her and the level of anticipation, she'd kind of expected to be bent over the end of the bed in a frenzy. This was. . . slow and deep and intense. Intimate. She reached an arm back to wrap around his neck, the other hand holding his thigh. He moved them easily, and giving him her weight actually seemed to let him go deeper inside her.

They had a lot of great sex. But this, right here, was well into another category it felt so good. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, enough she’d probably have a hickey. Just when she was sure she couldn’t take anymore, he began to move faster, and she leaned forward to brace on the bed. To push back against him. “Fuck,” he gasped the first time she did it.

"Yes." He shifted, getting a foot under him for better leverage. "Fuck me, Peter. Fuck." It was somewhere between an order and a plea and he took it seriously. His hand cupped her hips and he thrust into her deep and rough. She met his strokes and for a few moments there was just the sound of their gasps and cries and the slap of skin against skin.

Everything seemed to twist and tighten inside her. She felt her muscles start to clench an instant before the tension in her belly snapped. She reached back and clutched at his hip, trying to keep him still as she rode through the first deep, intense waves of the orgasm.

He held still, rocking a little as it washed over her. She was still lost in it when he lifted them onto the bed. He was behind her, on top of her, surrounding her. It was a completely different angle, tight, and she was so sensitive she felt everything in intense detail. She let out a whimper. She couldn't possibly…

He started to move again, seeking his own climax and her muscles clenched around him involuntarily. It was pleasure on the border of pain but she couldn't help but give into it. Her hips lifted into his thrusts and she said his name on a wail, shaking hard with the force of her third, impossible climax. He finally followed her, but she was only dimly aware of it. She was floating, her ears were ringing, and there was nothing else in the world right now. 

Before she could collect herself, he pushed himself off of her and sprawled on his back. When she finally turned her head and opened her eyes, he was watching her, looking as stunned as she felt.

There was probably something profound she could say, but God help her to think of it. She settled for scooting over a little and pressing a kiss to his chest before settling her head on his ribs. There was a long stretch of contented silence, and then he said, “I love you.”

She smiled and nuzzled him. "I love you, too, Peter.”

“I’ve never said that to a woman before,” he said. “There’s only you. Maybe there’s always only been you.”

Shifting upwards on the bed, she dropped a light kiss on his lips and resettled at his side. "You - this - was worth the wait.”

“Yeah, it was.” He stroked her back. “Thanks for the second chance.” His voice caught a little on the end.

She gave him a little squeeze. "You're welcome."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger/content warning: There are discussions of infertility in this chapter.

Their first night together, they’d passed out before they could have their anticipated night-of-sex. The night after the Met Gala, they made up for it. They saw the sun come up.

"Previews start next Tuesday," MJ murmured, drawing little patterns on his chest. "You gonna be there?"

“Are you kidding? We’re all going.”

She grinned. "That won't be intimidating at all."

“You will be amazing. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

"Mmm. And just think, once the show starts you can actually see me during the day sometimes."

“I don’t know, will I like daytime you?”

She lifted her head. "Oh, that's a good point. I _am_ kind of a bitch."

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll put up with it, you give really good blowjobs.” She socked him in the arm and he laughed, pulling her down for a kiss.

Resettling on his shoulder, she sighed and cuddled close. "Jerk."

“Sometimes,” he replied. They drifted a bit, and then he said, “Dealing with the condoms is a pain.”

"I agree. But all the hormonal birth controls I've tried messed with me."

“Well, that sucks.” It really did. That meant years of condoms.

She rubbed his chest. "It's been a while since I tried, though. Does Avenger health care extend to girlfriends? I could sit down with Tess and brainstorm."

“They’d probably love to help down there.” The sky was really starting to lighten. He should close the drapes. “Doc has written academic papers on fertility in enhanced persons. Apparently it makes some people super-fertile, so I know they’ve done a ton of research on the birth control front.” 

"Maybe they'll have some magic, no-side effects pill I can take."

He sighed, thinking this was an awkward topic and he somewhat regretted bringing it up. But since he _had_ … “It doesn’t need to be Tess-level effective. It doesn’t really even need to be hormonal-level effective, to be honest.”

She arched her brows, rolling a little to look at him better. "What do you mean?"

And this was so not a conversation he wanted eye contact for. Which was kind of ridiculous given the night before. “Yeah, I didn’t get the thing the supersoldiers got. It kind of goes one way or the other.” 

"Ah." She ran her hand along his arm, looking thoughtful. "You know, I'm not anywhere near hearing a clock tick. And to be honest, I sometimes wonder if I want to pass down my particular genes. So. . . I'm sorry 'cause that seems like a really shitty side effect. But it doesn't change anything. For me. Us."

“It’s not impossible,” he told her. “According to Doc, anyway. My DNA is all kinds of fucked up, but she says there’s enough normal they can fish out with the world’s tiniest spoon or whatever. She said I could have them, I should just expect it to involve a complicated medical procedure that will be far worse on the woman than me. So, there’s that.”

"Peter." MJ leaned down and kissed him. "I seriously have no burning desire to pass on my genes. If you do, or if I change my mind, we can tackle it then." She stroked hair out of his eyes. "It seems to bother you, so I really am sorry it happened. But don't think I'm going to resent you for it, or anything."

“Right now I’ve kind of shoved it in the category of. . . I am way too young to deal with this shit now.” He paused. “Nobody but Doc knows. And now you.”

"I'll make my birth control appointment with her, then."

“Not saying I want to, but pull-and-pray would probably be plenty. The condoms are mostly because I didn’t get an enhanced immune system like the rest of ‘em either, and STDs don’t sound fun.”

"Yeah, no." She looked thoughtful. "I'll talk to Doc, but we'd probably be fine with a diaphragm or cap or something. Most of the hassle with those is using spermicide and if that's not an issue. . . I can put it in early and we can be a little more spontaneous." With a grin, she added, "I've never done it bare."

“Neither have I. Now we can really reenact the virginity-losing we would have had. Messy, awkward, and over quickly.”

She laughed and cupped his face, kissing him. "I love you."

“I love you too,” he told her. “For a hundred different things.” He kissed her and sat up. “I’m going to close the drapes so we can get a little sleep.”

"Thank you." She rearranged the covers as he walked to the window. "At least I have the day off. We can be properly lazy."

He dragged the curtains closed. They were high-end blackout drapes. When closed you could barely see your hand in front of your face. “FRIDAY, 1% light.”

Shuffling so as not to trip, he returned to the bed. MJ caught his hand to help him get under the covers. She dropped a kiss on his shoulder as he tugged her close. "Sweet dreams, Peter."

It might have been the best night’s sleep he ever had.

Less than a week later, he sat in just about the perfect seat, surrounded on all sides by Avengers past and present, waiting for _Captain Rogers_ to start. Doc had told him a while back that he should bring her flowers for opening night, but since this was their first performance with an audience, he decided this deserved flowers too, and had them sent to her dressing room.

It was something else to watch the woman you love be completely amazing in public.

He'd watched the videos of her other performances, all the way back to high school, and it was clear she was talented. But here, watching her up on stage, he could see this was her element. She commanded the audience's attention, held her own against a stage full of men. And in the second act she was the narrator, the glue that made a very complicated story cohesive.

He was pretty biased, of course. But he swore she got the biggest hand at the curtain call.

Afterwards, he went to wait by the stage door. Seemed like the thing to do.

A couple of the secondary actors came out first, shaking hands and signing things. Then Javier, who got mobbed. MJ slipped out immediately after him. Peter suspected that was entirely intentional. He grinned and held his hand out for her, pulling her close to him. “You were amazing.”

She giggled, sounding giddy, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Was I?"

“Yes. I am so proud of you. Is it patronizing to say that? Because it’s true. I’m a superhero and tonight I’m just the dude on your arm.”

"You're allowed to say it." She kissed him, then leaned back and grinned. "It was awesome. I could tell even when I was up there. We were awesome.”

“So, is there some sort of cast party going on?”

"There will be celebrating and drinking," she confirmed. "Do you want to come? I can show you off a little.”

“I will be your trophy boyfriend.”

"Thank you. Jan rented out the back room of a restaurant." She tucked her arm into his. "Come on. While they're still distracted with Javi.”

He grinned. “Lead the way.”

*

MJ woke up before Peter the next morning, something that was generally unheard of. He tended to wake with the dawn, no matter how active they’d been the night before. She was kind of proud of herself for wearing him out so thoroughly. But mainly she knew she was up early so she could check out her reviews.

Easing carefully out of bed so as not to disturb him, she tugged on one of his t-shirts and slipped out of the bedroom. Once she had a cup of coffee in hand she sat at his work station and asked FRIDAY to pull up the theater section of the local papers.

The reviews from professional critics were glowing.

The comments section—which she shouldn’t have read—had one repeated complaint, and that was her. Or, more specifically, the color of her hair. She kept looking, and discovered this had been a thing in certain corners of the internet since she and Peter’s relationship had elevated gossip about the musical beyond the theatre industry.

Natasha Romanov was supposed to be Russian. The Black Widow was supposed to be a redhead. 

She realized she was grinding her teeth and forced herself to unclench. Of all the ridiculous, petty, dog whistling. . .

Turning the work station off with a little too much force, she stalked back to the kitchen to pour herself more coffee.

Peter came wandering out of the bedroom. “Hey, you okay?”

“I made the mistake of reading the comments section on my reviews.”

He blinked. “Were they bad? Comments are full of trolls.”

“I’m not a redhead,” she muttered, sipping her coffee with extreme prejudice.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She sighed. “People are complaining that Nat is Russian and a redhead so it’s ‘jarring’ for me to be playing her. Which really means she’s white and I’m black and they can’t jerk off to me as easily.”

Peter scrunched up his face. “Yuck.” He opened up his eyes. “Let me guess—no one is complaining about Thor being Lebanese.”

“Shockingly, that has not come up.”

He rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. The internet is full of assholes.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have read the comments.” She leaned into his touch. “The _actual_ reviews were fantastic.” 

“Of course they were, you were fantastic.”

Leaning back for a kiss, she said, “Thank you, but you are a little biased.”

“But I’m honest,” he protested. “I’d tell you if you sucked. I mean, politely, but I’d tell you.”

She chuckled and nodded, leaning into him. “Okay. I believe you.” He kissed the top of her head and went over to get himself some coffee. She watched him a moment before taking a breath and saying, “So, in the interest of honesty. . .”

He stopped and turned, hand on the coffee pot. “You look serious.”

“I am. I guess.” She fiddled with her mug. “The other night, after the Gala. . . we were talking about kids and stuff. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it. I think we’re pretty serious. Like, talk about the future serious. And if we are that kind of serious that seems like a topic we should make sure we’re on the same page about.”

She could see him wince a little. “Yeah?” 

Taking another deep breath she blurted out, “I really don’t want kids.”

He looked at her for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “You could have just said that the other night.”

“You seemed really upset about it. I didn’t want to seem like I was blowing you off. And, like, if we had a million to one thing happen and something stuck, that would be one thing. But I don’t want to sign on for months of fertility drugs or whatnot. So if that’s a deal breaker for you, I wanted it out there.”

He blew out a breath. “I. . . I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m not really upset, I just figured you would be. That was the warning I was given, more or less. Be careful telling women.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If something stuck by accident you’d probably have a miscarriage. That’s what Doc told me.” 

Well, that was good to know. “I don’t hate kids. Nazzie and all the other Tower rug rats are adorable. If we made one it would probably also be adorable and too smart for its own good. But my childhood was shitty. As much as I love my dad now, he didn’t know what to do with a daughter and the less said about my relationship with my mom, the better. And, to be brutally honest, pregnancy and childbirth would derail my career pretty significantly.” She spread her hands. “So if they’re off the table, I’m totally all right with that.”

“My life is a. . . side show. Sometimes a Michael Bay movie. I can’t imagine dragging a little kid into that. It seems unfair and also exhausting.”

She nodded and they were both silent a moment, watching each other. “Sounds like we’re in agreement,” she said hesitantly.

His eyes searched her face. “Sounds like we are.”

“Why do you still look kinda nervous?”

“I’m not, I’m not. It’s just, you know, a serious topic. Early in the morning.”

She chuckled a little. “Yeah. I guess so. Sorry about that.”

“You wanna go out and get some breakfast?” he asked.

“I would love to.” She got to her feet. “I’ll get dressed.”

*

Tony had to admit, it was nice being back in the Tower. He and Pepper had been spending more time there, mostly so Ruby and the boys could see their cousins and get in some All-American kid fun. They'd spent the last decade traveling, spending time in Wakanda, all over Europe and Asia. The kids had had a great time. But Ruby would be starting high school soon and the boys needed more structure. Maybe it was time to settle somewhere.

In the meantime, he was happy for the string of excuses to spend time in New York. First the Met Gala and then the previews for Steve's musical. He was sure he could convince Pepper to come back again in July for the official opening night, too. Especially given that it coincided with Steve's 111th birthday. Seemed like the kind of thing that was a good excuse to throw a party.

And he liked any opportunity to check on his minions. Pepper called them his ducklings, but they were adults now, so it seemed weird. 

He had no idea if it had been a deliberate choice of Ross’, or just coincidence that the new team had an abundance of mad scientist and/or engineering types. 

He spent the morning with Nate, talking over his latest programs. The kid had started pecking away at making a video game. Not exactly Tony's wheelhouse but he approved of the desire to do something with his brain.

When they'd wrapped up he asked FRIDAY where Peter was hiding. 

“He is on the exterior of the building, outside the 54th floor.”

"Huh." Tony wondered if he should worry about that. "He alone?”

“Depends on if you count Karen as company.”

Worry was increasing. "I need a suit.”

“You know how Doc feels about you wearing the suits.” He didn’t know FRIDAY could sound that stern. Made him wonder if Nate had gotten into her programming again.

"I'm not gonna fight anyone, I'm just gonna. . . hover. She'll disapprove of me hanging off the 54th floor even more.”

“Very well. There is one in your workshop.”

He was happy to find Ada not there—they kind of shared the space. Ada could be chatty, and he’d allotted their chatting time for later. The suit fit like a glove and a few moments later he was out in the air, heading for the 54th floor.

Peter turned when he approached, letting go with one hand to look at him. You couldn’t see his expression, but a moment later his voice came over the comm. “Hello.”

"Hey. Something up?" Tony parked himself next to the wall, hovering in place. "You used to come out here when you were younger. Gave some of the others fits.”

“It’s a good place to be alone with your thoughts,” he replied. “Why are you out here?”

"Came looking for you. You were next on my list.”

"To check up on? I’m fine. Even eating my vegetables.”

"Then why are you hiding on the side of the building?”

“I am not—“ Peter turned so fast he almost lost his grip on the wall. “I”m not hiding.”

Honest to God, even with a mask on the kid had no poker face. "Pete. What's up?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll come inside.”

He was starting to sound like Ruby when he asked her anything about her day or friends or studies or what color the sky was. When she got riled up he generally beat a heady retreat. But he was starting to wonder if he was qualified for this particular problem. Crossing his arms, he leaned his back on the building. "Darcy says you're pretty serious with the actress from the musical. MJ? You knew her when you were a kid."

“She’s the girl I stood up the night I was ‘recruited’.” He made air quotes with one hand, then began climbing up the building, towards what Tony hoped was the penthouse balcony.

Tony followed, hovering slowly upwards. "Sounds like she gave you a pretty big second chance."

He sighed. “Yeah, she did.”

"But?"

“No buts. I think she’s, like, The One.”

"Ah." He let him climb in silence a moment. "That's scary."

“If I think about it too long, it’s terrifying.”

"You think she's feeling the same thing?"

“Terrified? I doubt it. She’s been amazingly chill about everything. About almost breaking her heart, about the media following us, about the job and my powers.” He heaved himself over the balcony ledge and sat there a moment, leaning his back against the rail.

Tony landed next to him, though with the rail between him and the drop. Hitting a button, the suit retracted and he managed to get his old bones down to the balcony floor. "You know when I realized I loved Pepper? I stepped off the plane that was bringing me back from Afghanistan and she was standing there waiting for me. Obviously been crying. And I realized, in the middle of all the fucked up stuff I was dealing with, that she was the person I'd been hoping would be waiting." He tilted his head. "Of course, it took a few years for me to actually express this to her."

Peter pulled his mask off and tossed it behind himself on the balcony. “Do you regret the time you lost?”

He considered a moment. "I think I needed to grow up. I think I needed to deal with my shit. Probably should have dealt with _more_ of my shit before dragging her into it, but in hindsight." He looked over at Peter. "I'm a difficult person to be with. Pepper is a saint and has her own faults so we figure it out. But if I'd tried to commit to her before I did I think I'd have fucked it up beyond repair. So, maybe I wish I was more of an adult earlier, but I don't think I'd change it."

“Yeah, see. . . I don’t have my shit sorted out. Like, at all. For a while I thought I did, then I got involved with MJ, and…” He shook his head. “Now I’m having dreams about the night of the dance that are worse than reality. Either they take her instead, or they kill her to take me. This is what my subconscious produces.”

Well, that all sounded horribly familiar. "That's pretty common, when you find someone you love. Guarantee you everyone in this building has had dreams like that about their loved ones. Even the ones whose loved ones kick ass."

He stood up, and climbed over the rail. “You got anything good in your bar?”

"I have everything good in my bar." He lifted a hand. "Help an old man up."

He pulled Tony up like he was lifting a piece of styrofoam. Man, that kid was strong. “The other day some paparazzi pulled up in a van and one jumped out to take our picture. I nearly had a heart attack. I’m sure that would have made an interesting article. ‘Spider-Man afraid of vans’.”

"Well, they could squish you." Peter gave him a look and Tony shooed him towards the penthouse. "You can't protect her from the world. Trying will almost certainly blow up in your face. _Trust me_."

“Yeah, I heard about some of that stuff.”

"I bet." He went to the bar and rummaged for something that might actually make the kid tingle. "You said she's been chill about it all. Have you talked to her about the nightmares and the terror?"

“No,” he said emphatically.

"Don't want to freak her out?"

“I don’t think she’ll freak out. Maybe she’ll look at me different. Mostly it just…doesn't go.”

Aha, 50 year old Glenfiddich single malt. That'll put hair on his chest. Tony dug it and two glasses out and brought them over to Peter. "Doesn't go with what?"

He waited until he got his glass, and took a drink. “I don’t even known how to fucking describe it. The universal perception of who and/or what I am. I’m fun, my powers are cool. I’m the team kid. Well, not entirely anymore, thanks to Ada.”

"Yeah, but that's who you are out there -" Tony pointed generally at the windows. "You aren't supposed to be that with her. You can't be."

“That’s who I am everywhere, except in my own head. Well, and Nate. And, you know, you.”

Tony sipped his whiskey. "This girl, she knew you in high school. Did she know you before the spider bite?"

“I’ve known her since I was 7 years old. She’s got lots of embarrassing stories.”

"Pepper knows all my skeletons - both hilarious and terrifying - and she hasn't been fooled by my media persona in over two decades. I haven't met MJ, but I'm willing to bet she's the same." He looked into his drink. "You've got your demons and you don't want them to touch her. I understand that. One hundred percent. But I will tell you this, there will come a point - maybe next week, maybe five years from now - when the only thing you want in the world is someone who loves Peter Parker and not Spider-Man." 

He reached for the bottle to pour himself more. “I keep telling her things. Things I don’t tell anyone. They just come out of my mouth.“

"That is what you're supposed to do with The One. You trust her. With trust comes honesty.”

“What if that makes her see me differently? Like not in a good way.”

"Has it so far?”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He slugged back more whiskey. Tony would worry if he wasn’t enhanced.

"I know the instinct to be perfect for the person you love. You want to fix everything, take care of everything. But it's a partnership. She needs to see you weak sometimes. She needs to know you'll lean on her if times get hard. And she'll feel comfortable doing the same.”

“It’s a hard thing to let go of. The public facade. It feels safe. On the other hand, knowing her she probably doesn’t buy it, anyway.”

"Probably not." He sipped his drink and took the bottle, not filling his glass, but getting it out of Peter's reach. "It took me years and two apocalypses to figure this out, so I understand if you need some time. Do it in baby steps. But try. You'd be amazed how far trying gets you.”

“This is a long way from your Sex With Groupies lecture.”

Tony grinned. "Well, the right lecture for the right time.”

That got a smile out of him. “I wish you guys were in town more.”

"You know, I was thinking the same thing." He reached out and rubbed his shoulder. "Maybe with the kids getting older we'll settle somewhere.”

“New York’s a great town."

"I am rather fond of it," he agreed.

Peter stood up. “You know, you did meet her. MJ. You were taking some of the herd to a basketball game and she was here to see Nat. You tried to throw her out of the elevator, and then told her FRIDAY would gas her if she was lying.”

Tony blinked and tried to remember. "That certainly sounds like something I'd do.”

“You made her less nervous about meeting Nat.”

He laughed. "No one has ever found me more intimidating than Nat, but I'm happy to help."


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone assumed opening night was nerve wracking. A big deal was made of it. And yes, MJ felt a certain flutter of butterflies as she checked her makeup and costume one more time. But after two months of rehearsals and a month of previews she was all but reciting her part in her sleep. She was lucky she hadn't inadvertently called Peter "Steve" at an inopportune moment. She'd been living and breathing this musical for a quarter of the year and now it was all coming to fruition.

The reviews from the previews had been overwhelmingly positive, especially regarding her and Javier's chemistry. Even if they hadn't been selling out because of Jan Acosta's name on it, they would have been from the hype. She could actually hear the dull roar of the crowd from back here.

Her phone beeped, and she found a text from Peter. _Survived the red carpet. FYI, some reporter living under a rock asked me if the rumors were true I was having an affair with the star. Before I could reply, Kate told them Javier and I are a cute couple._

_I look forward to reading that article in the morning._ Probably cuddled in bed with him. That thought, oddly, settled the butterflies a little. _Thank you for the flowers_ , she added.

_Did they help at all with the nerves?_

_A bit. They smell great. You get good seats?_

_7th row center._

_Perfect._

The stage manager gave a knock on the door. "Five minutes call!"

"Thanks!" MJ called over her shoulder. _I gotta go get my pep talk._

_Break a leg_

_Thanks. I will see you after the show. You're on the list to come backstage._

He was waiting for her in her dressing room at the end of the show. When she flung herself at him, he caught her and held her up off the ground. If possible, she was even more excited than she had been on preview night. "That was amazing!" she said. "We were all so pumped and on it."

He kissed her gently—she had a lot of stage makeup on. “I am so proud of you.”

"Thank you. And thank you for being patient these last few weeks. I know I've been busy and crazy."

“Hey, sometimes my job is pretty crazy, too.”

"Yeah, I guess I owe you." She pecked his lips. "I love you."

“I love you too. Everyone is here, I told them I’d bring you out to say hello. Nat has a surprise for you.”

She arched her brows, but nodded. "Can I take my make up off first?"

“You can even change, they’ll wait.”

"Great." She kissed him again. "But I am going to kick you out while I change."

He laughed. “Afraid you’ll scandalize me?” 

"I have a surprise," she told him with a sly smile. "And I want to keep it a surprise."

“Well that sure makes me want to skip the after party. . .”

"Anticipation is half the fun." She turned him and gave him a little smack on the ass. "I'll be out in a minute." He opened the door and the crowd in the hallway swallowed him. She was grateful he shut the door firmly before anyone could duck in to talk to her.

Sitting, she wiped off all her makeup and eased out of her costume, hanging it up on the rack with her Peggy outfits. Then she dug in her bag for her surprises.

She'd managed to sneak time in with Doc the week before to talk birth control. After a very long discussion on odds and fertility and a quick physical exam, they'd agreed a diaphragm would be sufficient for their needs. MJ was also going to monitor her cycle and use spermacide on days when she was high risk. But, used correctly - and given Peter's issues - it would be at least as effective, if not more than the condoms.

Bracing a leg on her chair, she inserted the diaphragm, then slipped into the purple teddy she'd gotten at La Perla with the girls. Over that went her usual post-show yoga pants and t-shirt. Her hair was teased and full of hair spray, so she just tied a scarf around it, slipped into shoes, and headed out into the chaos.

Peter was loitering patiently outside her door, talking to Omar, who sounded like he was trying to convince the two of them to come partying with the case.

"Hey," she said, pecking Peter's cheek. "Are you resisting his charms?"

“We’ve been invited to the Social Event of the Season,” he replied, putting an arm around her.

"Omar does know how to party."

He grinned. "Your girlfriend is a hard nut to crack" he informed Peter.

“I believe that.” He looked down at her. “I do, however, have a crowd of superheroes outside waiting to say hello.”

Omar shook his head and gave her a hug. "I can't compete with that. See you tomorrow."

"Have a fun night," she said, tucking her arm into Peter's as they walked through the crowd.

“Did you want to go?” he asked quietly—well, as quietly as he could given the crowd.

She shrugged. "I probably would have made an appearance if I was single. But I'm still not much of a partier. Hanging with you sounds like more fun.”

“I don’t disagree,” he told her with a grin.

There was, indeed, a gaggle of superheroes waiting for her. They gave her a round of applause, which made her blush and do a little curtsey. "Thank you for coming. Again." Some of the group had probably seen the show three or four times now.

“Amanda isn’t even halfway through her required viewings,” Bucky said, and she made a face at him.

“It was great show,” Natasha said, and MJ blinked because she hadn’t even noticed her standing there. She’d dyed her hair black.

"This is new," she said, pointing at the hair.

“Now Black Widow isn’t a redhead.” She fluffed her hair. “Whadya know?”

MJ grinned and risked reaching out to touch some of the long strands. "It suits you. I hope you get lots of pictures taken of you.”

“I loitered behind Peter on the red carpet.”

"Excellent." She glanced over at Steve, looming a few feet away. "Still hate the Cap musical?”

“You guys did good.”

"High praise indeed," Bucky said.

"I'll take it. Thanks, Cap.”

He smiled back at her. “You do her justice.”

She flushed a little and gave him a nod. "Thank you.”

They chatted for a little while longer, mostly the rest of them telling her how awesome she was. It was enough for a girl to get a big head. But they had been pretty awesome.

The crowd started to thin out in general and various couples made excuses to get back to their kids. MJ rested her head on Peter's shoulder. "Ready to head home?”

He kissed the top of her head. “You coming back to the tower with me?”

"You're welcome to come to my place, but the Tower _is_ closer.”

“And my bed is better.”

"It is," she conceded. Kissing his cheek, she added, "And sturdier.”

She could see a little color in his cheeks, and it was adorable. “That, too. Come on, I’ll spring for a cab so we don’t get mobbed on the subway.”

"I appreciate that." He took her hand and they made their way through the lobby and out onto the street. They'd missed most of the audience mob, but there were still some taxi's lingering around for stragglers. One helpfully pulled up as they reached the curb. Peter opened the door for her to get in, and she kissed him for his trouble as she passed. Inside he reached for her hand.

They were both very aware of their fame and didn't want to read anything about "Spider-Man and star make out in back of cab" in the morning. So other then the hand holding they behaved themselves. She did make a point of running her thumb back and forth along the back of his hand, just to up the anticipation.

When the cab pulled up in front of the tower, he held the door for her again. “You know, you’re practically vibrating right now.”

"Two and a half hour adrenaline crash," she told him. "Better think of something to keep me awake.”

“Hey, I know the feeling. You should see me after a mission.”

That was probably coming, she thought, as they headed inside. He hadn't had a real mission since they'd gotten serious. She wondered how she'd handle that, worrying about him when he was gone.

Now wasn't the time to think about it, though. She made it all the way to the elevator before kissing him. He slid his arms around her waist and murmured, “One of these days, we’re going to give FRIDAY a real show.”

"FRIDAY works hard, she deserves a good show.”

“I see plenty, thank you,” she said from the ceiling, making Peter laugh.

MJ blew the ceiling a kiss as the doors opened and Peter tugged her out into the hall. They behaved themselves walking to his door, which slid open soundlessly as they approached. "That is handy.”

“Keeps the doors from getting broken,” Peter murmured, pulling her further into the dark living room.

She laughed. Good to know they weren't alone in their impatience. "Are you ready for your surprise?”

“Absolutely. FRIDAY, some light?”

They came up to about half brightness. It was a little disconcerting to know the AI had clearly realized what they were up to and was setting the proper mood. Don't think about it.

She stepped back and tugged her shirt up and off, then toed off her shoes and wiggled her pants down, leaving her in the little purple shift.

He grinned. “Yeah. Good surprise.”

"I have one more," she confessed.

He looked a little flummoxed. “Uh. . . underneath that?”

"In a way." She cleared her throat. "We can skip the condoms tonight.”

Both of his eyebrows went up. “Oh _really_?”

"Yep. Had my appointment, have a plan. So we're good to go.”

He came closer to her. There was something vaguely. . .predatory about the way he walked, the way he looked at her. “Well then. Let’s go.” He reached for her and tugged her up against his chest. Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him, letting him take her weight. There was something very sexy about the fact she was in a flimsy nightie and he was still fully dressed.

He lifted her easily, like he always did. She didn’t need him to carry her into the bedroom, but she liked letting him do it. When he dropped her on the bed she bounced a little. He lifted his head and she started unbuttoning his shirt. "You looked sexy tonight, by the way.”

“This is my fanciest non-tuxedo."

"I like it." She peeled the shirt off. "Like it better on the floor, though.”

“It was really expensive and made by Tony’s crazy Italian Suit Guy. Can I put in on the chair?”

She pretended to think about it. "As long at it's off.”

He looked like he was going to take it over to the chair in his bedroom, but decided to kiss her instead. She sighed and dug her hands into his hair. This was also good. He seemed to agree, because he tossed the shirt on the floor. They just kissed a while, backing towards the bed. “Once again I have a dilemma about your lingerie.”

"I feel like this is going to be a long-term problem." She ran her hands along his arms. "You can access everything interesting with it on.”

“What’s it made out of?”

Brow furrowing, she tried to remember. "Um, probably silk?”

“That’s probably strong enough,” he replied, kissing her again.

She resisted the urge to ask for what and kissed him back. This one took off a bit and she got distracted from her task of undressing him.

*

There was nothing quite like a gorgeous woman in delicate lingerie. Sometimes, Peter looked at her and thought she was miles out of his league. Tonight had been one of those nights. The little slip of purple silk clinging to her curves only enhanced that impression.

Sometimes, he had no idea how he got this lucky.

"Hey," she said softly, tapping his nose. "Stay with me.”

He frowned a little. “I’m right here.”

"You were in your head," she replied, slipping her hand into his hair. "You get lost in there sometimes.”

She knew him well, didn’t she? “If it helps, I was thinking about you.”

That got him a smile. "Well, I suppose I'll allow it, then." She drew him down for a kiss. "Flattering thoughts, I hope.”

He slid his hands over the slippery silk, along her hip and waist, up her ribcage to her breasts. Her hands had found his belt buckle, and he left her to it. “Not always sure I deserve you, but I’m happy you’re here.”

Her smile changed, softening and turning a little sad. "I think we're just perfect for each other." He felt a tug at his fly and a warm hand slid inside, cupping him.

He closed his eyes, unable to pay attention to anything else at that moment. He made some sort of nonsensical noise, which she seemed to take as agreement. She dropped soft little kisses on his jaw and throat, stroking him through his boxers. When he was hard, she eased the waistband down and he felt her hand wrap around his bare skin, stroking slowly. He caught her chin and tipped her head up so he could kiss her mouth. It was rougher than he intended, but he could help himself. He tucked his hand around the back of her neck to hold her where he wanted her.

She groaned into his mouth, hand flexing around him. The kiss seemed to distract her, and her hand lost its rhythm.

"I like when you're rough," she murmured.

He tugged her slip up so he could actually touch her skin. “If I’m not careful I could hurt you.”

"I admit, that's probably part of it." She closed her eyes and shivered as his hands roamed her. "A lot of sex is about trust.”

Now he had it hiked up enough to cup her bare breast. “I trust you, I don't always trust myself.”

"I trust you," she told him. "With my life and my body. My heart.”

This time he framed her face in both hands before he kissed her gently. “I will do my best to be worthy of that.”

She smiled softly and stroked a hand down his back before cupping his ass. "Okay. For now, you can be a little rough.”

He distracted her with a kiss so he could quickly take the rest of his clothes off. He no longer cared about the status of the suit. There was only one thing in the entire universe he cared about right now, and it was this. Them. “Bed?” he murmured.

"Yes." She started backing up towards it, tugging him with her. "I don't think my legs will hold me up much longer.”

He picked her up. “I can hold you up anywhere.”

"Yeah, I like that part too," she told him with an almost feral grin.

It was just the sort of thing that gave him ideas. Instead of going into the bedroom, he backed her against the living room wall near the door. While he kissed he unhooked her legs from behind his back and braced his hands under her thighs. Then he began to slowly slide her up the wall, kissing each body part through the silk as she went.

When she realized what he was up to, he heard her whispered, "Oh God." She started out gripping at his shoulder, then braced them back on the wall. When he got her high enough, he kissed her sex, tracing small patterns with his tongue and making her make all sorts of desperate sounds.

She was already wet and swollen when he touched her and her immediate, eager response was very gratifying. When she leaned back into the wall, it pressed her more firmly into his mouth and he heard her moan, low and sexy in her throat. "Don't stop. Don't stop.” 

Driving her to edge like this was one of his favorite things to do. He could get her beg and cry out, to try and push against him and pull away all at once. Right now he could feel her getting close, the way she tensed and the way her legs shook in his hands.

"Please, please. _Fuck_." Her muscles tensed and she shuddered, sex pulsing against his tongue. He licked as she rode it out, then she slumped and he shifted his grip so she wouldn't topple.

Slowly he lowered her back to the ground. He expect a pause while she drifted in her bliss, and was surprised by the ferocity with which she kissed him. He matched it, and it was so damn hot.

She pressed against him, hips grinding into his desperately. "I need you," she told him. "Need to feel you inside me. Fucking me.”

This was just the kind of night he’d break the wall, so he staggered back. The bed seemed too far, and the floor was right there. He could just pull her right down with him, so she straddled him. She grunted a little when her knees hit the ground, but she kissed him hard before he could ask if she was okay.

In this position, when she ground against him he could feel the slick heat of her rubbing his erection. He lifted her hips up to her and she groaned into his mouth. Then she lifted up on her knees and shifted her angle so the head of his cock slipped between her folds.

MJ lifted her head and slowly started to slide down his length. Which…felt better than anything he’d ever felt. Then he lifted his head to watch her, which made it nearly unbearable. He tried to say something, but it came out as an incoherent noise. He was gripping her thighs probably a little too hard, but she didn’t seem to mind. She rocked a little when she bottomed out and he he squeezed her legs a little so she’d be still—or this would be over way too quickly.

She obeyed, sitting still while he focused on his breathing. He was just about ready when he saw he hand snake down and start to stroke herself. He watched her, mesmerized. Slowly she began to move again, lifting up and sinking back down. He had to close his eyes and just feel.

Everything felt more intense, every sensation turned up to eleven. It was better than he'd thought it would be.

"I didn't-" MJ whispered. "I didn't think it would feel that different. But it does. The friction-" Her pace picked up, hips rocking so he stroked along her walls.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Honey, faster. Please.” The words were hard to get out. He had to let go of her to grip the carpet. He was entirely at her mercy.

She surprised him by reaching down and curling her hands around his wrists, pressing him down into the carpet. With that extra bit of leverage, she was able to go faster, harder. He watched her face as she flushed, mouth open in a silent 'o' of pleasure. Then she let out a little cry and slammed down hard on him, body rippling and clenching. He bucked up, his own orgasm ripping through him, more intense than he’d expected. For a moment he lost touch and just drifted, and then she kissed him, tenderly and very thoroughly. He could feel her body still pulsing and her shivering with little aftershocks.

"Peter," she mumbled, nuzzling at his jaw. "Peter, _my_ Peter.”

He lifted an arm so he could rub her back. She still had the slip on. “Thank you for reminding me of my name. I think I’d literally forgotten for a bit there.”

She laughed and he could feel her squeeze around him as she did. "That was awesome.”

He sighed contentedly, thinking he’d be happy to lay here like this all night. “I love you.”

"I love you back." She lifted her head and kissed him, crossing her arms on his chest and propping her chin on them. "It's nice being able to linger.”

“We could even take a bath.”

She groaned. "A bath would be _lovely_.”

"Okay," he said, wrapping one arm around her. “Hang on.” He reached behind his shoulder and pushed off. She squeaked as he leapt to his feet in one motion. He probably could have just stood up like a normal person, but she liked the gymnastics.

Sure enough, "Are you trying to get me wound up again?" she asked as he carried her to the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah?”

"Rhetorical, Peter." She kissed him, cupping the back of his head. It lasted all the way to the bathroom where he blindly fumbled for the handles to get the water running. Once the water felt a decent temperature, he set her down so he could take her fragile silk slip off.

She lifted her arms for him, then stood so he could look at her a moment, all soft curves and warm brown skin. As far as he was concerned, she was just perfect. Though, currently, little dark bruises were blooming on her thighs and knees. He winced and touched one and she looked down to see what he was doing.

"Ah! Badges of good sex.”

The bruises match the pattern of his fingers. “I hurt you,” he said quietly.

"You held my legs while we were having sex." She covered his hand with hers. "I bet I've scratched you up a time or two.”

“My skin is pretty impervious to minor damage,” he replied.

"Aw, tiger, that sounds like a challenge." She kissed him. "In all seriousness, I like sex rough. Not just with you. Bruises don't bother me. They remind me of the night before and get me wet all over again." With that little tidbit hanging in the air, she braced a hand on his shoulder and climbed into the tub.

He grinned at her, and followed her into the tub. “Well, all right, then.”

She leaned back into the water, sighing softly. "Mmm. This hits the spot.”

He sank down across from her. “You know this is the first time this tub has ever been filled.”

"Not a bath person?" she asked, rubbing a foot along his leg.

“Not really. But you make it much more appealing.”

"I make everything more appealing." She stretched and moved, shifting around so she sat with him, back to his chest. She resettled her head on his shoulder with another contented sigh. "You make me happy," she said quietly.

He bent his head close to hers. “You make me happy, too. And until recently, that’s been rarer than anyone thinks.”

"Me too." Her voice was still quiet, it came out like a confession. "I muddle through all right but. . . I've had some hard years. Being with you brings me some peace.”

“I sleep better. Less nightmares. Every time you’re here.”

She turned her head to kiss him. "I'm glad I chase away your bad dreams.”

“You give me peace.” He wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but he knew it as much as he knew anything. She made him feel safe. He thought about what Tony had said the other day, and added, “And you. . . know me. The real me.”

"The guy who peed his pants at the first grade assembly?" she teased gently.

He tipped his head back, resting it against the tub. “Jesus.”

She giggled and kissed his jaw, then his throat. "I love you. The real you. Way more than I could ever love Spider-Man.”

“The real me is a lot more complicated and fucked up. But the real me loves you back, just as much.”

"Good. 'Cause the real me is pretty complicated and fucked up, too. She wouldn't have patience for that pretty-boy on the news all the time.”

He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger. “See? We’re both actors.”

"We are," she agreed, settling back against him. He played with her hair as they relaxed in the warm water. After a while she started to hum, then sing the love song she sang in the Cap musical.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sound of her voice. If he was really honest. . .this was better than tub sex.


	11. Chapter 11

July was a blur of shows, sleep, and Peter. Rave reviews kept coming in and MJ's agent was calling and emailing daily with news. Theater wasn't like film where one hit meant immediate new offers. She had fifteen months left on her contract for the Cap musical, so even if someone did want to hire her, things would only be in the negotiations stage at this point. There were talk shows and photo shoots to handle, which she hated, but could usually arrange to do with co-stars so she didn't have to do all the talking. Put her in a theater in front of a couple hundred people and she could belt to the rafter. Ask her questions about her hair style in front of 60 live studio audience members and she froze up.

Then she got a request to do a performance for a charity event and couldn't bring herself to say no.

"It's one of those 'night with a Broadway star' things," she explained to Peter that night. "Spend a grand a plate on dinner and someone famous sings for an hour. I'd get to pick my own set and it's for the domestic violence shelter Lani volunteers for so. . . I don't know.”

“It’s a stage performance, why not?” He bumped her shoulder. “I’ll dig out the tux."

"Intimate stuff like that always give me the shudders. When I'm on the big stage I can't see the audience really, 'cause of the lights. So I can let go. I'll be able to see people." She leaned on him. "Though it'd be easier if you're there. I can focus on you.”

“I will _totally_ dig out my tux for you to sing to me for an hour.”

She grinned. "I will pick songs just for you, then.”

“I have rich friends, I can totally pack a whole table of familiar faces.”

"That would also probably help. Maybe see if the current team can go? Singing for Steve and Stark does nothing for my nerves.”

“I will round them up.”

"Thank you, Peter." She kissed him brightly. "You're my hero.”

He did, in fact, buy out the table. Well, someone with money did. The Avengers paid Peter very well, but as far as she knew he couldn’t just blow ten grand on something like this.

MJ spent two weeks picking her songs and practicing for the dinner, in all her spare time. By the morning of the event she was actually sort of looking forward to it. Singing a dozen of her favorite Broadway songs for people she considered friends. 

“So, I don’t know if this is going to make you nervous or not. . .” Peter started as they finished breakfast. She’d slept there. It had been longer than she wanted to think about since she’d actually spent the night in her own apartment. 

"Nothing good has ever happened after that sentence," she said, taking a long drink of coffee.

“I mentioned it to Aunt May and she really wanted to come see it. So I told her she could have one of the tickets. I have a lot of trouble saying no to her. And she does adore you.”

MJ blew out a breath. "God, you scared me. That's fine, I like May. She was always nice to me.”

“I don’t know. You were nervous about Steve possibly going. . .”

"May never cheerfully told me how important my physical health was via a grainy DVD with bad tracking.”

He laughed. “God, I forgot all about those. You know, it took quite a bit of faking to keep myself from just killing those ‘challenges’.”

That hadn't even occurred to her. "Oh, wow, I bet. I'm guessing you weren't struggling to do 10 push ups.”

“Sometimes I considered showing off. Just to see what would happen.”

"You should have. Flash probably would have left you alone if he'd seen these." She poked his abs with a finger.

To her delight, he giggled a little. “I thought about punching him sometimes. Once he shoved me in the hallway and I nearly shoved him back. I’d have probably put him through a wall.”

"Did I tell you he emailed me?" she asked, standing to start clearing their plates. "He wanted tickets to the show.”

“What did you tell him?"

"I sent him a series of gifs of people laughing.”

“I adore you,” he replied. “More than I ever thought possible.”

"You love me for my snark, I always suspected." She put their plates in the sink and rinsed her coffee cup. "I have to get going, I'm getting my hair and nails done." She kissed his cheek. "See you tonight.”

“My tux is pressed and hanging in the closet.”

"They want me there are five. Do you want to come and hang out and possibly be bored, or come at six for the cocktail hour?”

“I want to do whichever will make you feel better.”

She considered. "Be there at six, if you're hanging around with nothing to do it'll distract me.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll see you at six.”

"Okay. Have a good day." She touched his cheek, then grabbed her bag and headed out for her busy day.

She got there at 5, as asked, and it was obvious they had padded it in case she was late. She hated when people did that. There wasn’t much to do but fuss with her makeup and wait. 

At 5:30, her phone blared Peter’s ringtone.

When she picked up, before she even said hello she could hear a ton of noise on the line. Wind, a jet engine, muffled voices, metal clanking. That was ominous enough for her to pause, so he just started talking. “Hey. I’m so sorry. We have an emergency.”

A nameless sort of dread tightened her stomach. "What do you mean? What kind of emergency?”

The engine noise got louder and he raised his voice. “There’s a big fire up in Toronto, we’ve been called in.”

The dread started to twist into panic. "But - Right now?”

“Yeah, we’re loading the jets. I’m so sorry—if it were anything else I'd say no.” She heard someone call his name over the din, and he yelled back, “Give me a minute, you’re the one that built a faraday cage into your fucking jet.”

It wasn't his fault. She knew that. He hadn't set the fire and he was the best one of all of them in that sort of situation. But she was already nervous about the performance and now he wasn't going to be there. Worse, he was going to be in some burning building hundreds of miles away.

"Peter you promised," she said softly. "I can't do this if you're not here.”

He sounded apologetic and frustrated, though at the situation or her, she couldn’t tell. “This is my job. . . there are dozens of people trapped like 40 floors higher than the fire department can reach. I have to go. I think I’m literally the only person on earth who can climb a skyscraper.”

"I know. I know." And she did. This was inevitable. He was an Avenger and sometimes there would be emergencies and sometimes they'd be on boring Tuesdays and sometimes they would be on important days. It just. . . hurt. And she was now scared and nervous and had to go out into a crowd of people she didn't know and mingle before getting up and singing.

It was all of that that made her say, "I just . . . If I can't count on you then I don't know what we're doing." She closed her eyes and focused on not crying. She'd have to redo her makeup. "You should get on the jet," she added, then lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

*

Peter stared at his phone, now feeling genuinely torn. This was bad. She was really pissed.

“Parker!” Steve yelled from the jet. “Let’s go!”

He turned kind of mechanically and walked towards it. This was bad.

He managed to get on the jet and someone grabbed his arm and steered him to an empty seat. They were in the air and heading north before Nate said quietly, “Pete?"

“She was really upset,” he replied, even though he didn’t want to talk about it in the middle of a very crowded jet.

From across the aisle, Tony quipped, “That’s why I had FRIDAY tell Pepper I was tagging along.”

Peter looked up just to glare at him.

Nate squeezed his shoulder. "It's the first mission we've had since you guys got together. It's always tough.”

“She was just really nervous—and not only am I bailing, I’m taking the entire table with me. She’ll have no one. Except my aunt, which is probably not reassuring.”

"I thought she liked your aunt.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s not the same.”

"I'm sorry, Peter," he said quietly. "But it was gonna happen eventually."

It didn’t seem likely it would happen quite this disastrously. “That’s not very comforting, to be honest. How about we not talk about it?”

"If that's what you want."

“Right now, I just want to get the job done.” 

Nate nodded, and Peter could see his gaze shift like it did when he was talking to Hiro. Which was fine. He got up to go check on his hastily loaded gear. If the right webshooter cartridges hadn’t been packed they’d have to turn around. Some of the formulas were flammable.

Everything looked in order. Someone appeared to have grabbed literally every kind he had which was probably overkill but options were nice. He fiddled with them a while in an effort to avoid sitting back down with the group.

When he finally did wander back over Nate said, "Well, I may have solved one problem for you."

Peter glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

"Hiro talked to FRIDAY. Everyone we left home is going to the dinner. Cal, Darcy, Nat, Sharon, Lani, and Kate. Plus May that's seven out of ten."

That actually made Peter smile a little. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. "Figured it was something, at least."

“No, it’ll help. I think. I hope. Thank you.”

"You're welcome." He lowered his voice and hooked a thumb down the row. "Doc's super grumpy she's missing it, too. Maybe you and Barnes can bond."

He nodded. “First I think I’ll raid the MRE stash, I didn’t get dinner.”

"They just refilled it. Maybe there'll be meatloaf."

Peter got his food and went back to his seat. 

It was a mercifully short flight to Toronto. Wyatt set them down on the helipad of a hotel a couple blocks from the fire. Most of them went down to street level to head over but Peter and the fliers took the short route and in no time he was, in fact, scaling a burning skyscraper while Karen scanned for life signs.

Early on in his training with the team, someone had told him that a dirty secret of big cities was that if a building fire got out of control much higher than the 20th floor, there was pretty much nothing anyone could do about it. At a certain height or smoke level, it even became impossible to evacuate from the roof with helicopters. It was so rare, though, it didn’t bear worrying about—the last time it happened was before he was born, when terrorists crashed airplanes into the World Trade Center.

Given the ferocity of this particular fire, he’d imagine terrorists had something to do with this one, too.

The Avengers dealt in edge cases, of course, so this was one of the impossible scenarios they were prepared for. It was still terrifying in real life. He could barely see from the smoke, and he could feel the heat from the fire. He sure hoped his suit held up. 

“There are seven people on this floor,” Karen told him. “The fire has breached the stairwell, so they can’t head in either direction.”

That’s what he had been looking for. Most of the rest of the team was occupied by evacuating the herd of people on the roof. The smoke was so bad Wyatt was hovering the jet upwind while the fliers ferried people to the open back one at a time. Peter’s job was to find people who couldn’t make it to the roof.

“I got some,” he said to the comm. “Fire is in the stairwell. Ideas on how to best break this glass?” The windows that lined skyscrapers were generally very thick, and bulletproof.

“Let me go see how bad the stairs are,” Raf said. “If I can get in, I’ll help you from the inside.”

He crawled around the building to see if he could see the people. He imagined they’d be clustered near the windows. “I thought you didn’t have your gear.” There had been a mix-up during the rushed packing. Too much of Peter’s stuff had made it, and none of Raf’s. They’d sent him to help with medical triage.

“Eh, my skin’s fireproof.”

“Right,” Cassie said. “Because a giant naked man emerging from the inferno will not be at all alarming to those people.”

“He looks really good naked,” Kamala replied. She was sprinting up and down a dozen flights of stairs ferrying people, and sounded out of breath.

"If they're religious you're either gonna reassure 'em or scare the piss out of them," Tess said.

"Behold," Raf said, in a more booming voice than usual. "I bring you tidings of great joy."

"Was there a Norse god of fire?" Nate pondered.

"There were several of getting naked."

Say what you would, they did know how to have fun.

“You break that glass, you’re going to cause a backdraft.” Tony said it, but Peter didn’t realize he was literally hovering behind him until he rapped on the glass next to his head. 

“Jesus!” Peter said, almost losing his grip on the wall. Glass was a bitch to climb on.

“You’ll only have a minute or so before everyone but the Norse God of Naked in there is burnt toast.”

“You had to come down here to tell me that?”

“God damn it, get away from that fire!” And now they’d gotten the attention of Doc. 

It amused him that Tony floated a couple yards back. People were scared of Doc. Peter leaned backward and sideways to move closer to the people. News helicopters were circling in the distance, the press loved the acrobat moves.

Acrobat.

He turned to Tony. “Hey stay put,” he said. “No matter what.” He shot a web at him, then two anchor points below the window, and then repeated it over and over, weaving them back and forth into a net. “Okay, Raf. “We break the window and I need you to shove them out. Like, really fast. Like a herd of lemmings.”

"You know lemmings don't really do that," he replied. "The documentary makers made them run off the cliff in the interest of getting exciting footage."

Kamala was still out of breath when she said, "Not the time, honey."

“Hey, Mom,” Tony said. “Am I allowed to fire a rocket?”

"If you promise to never call me that again," Doc said.

“Everybody stand back.” He fired something from his free arm—the other was helping support the net—and it shattered the window into thousands of pieces. A moment later people began falling out, mostly screaming because Raf was pushing them.

“See, _exactly_ like lemmings,” Peter said. Just after the last woman fell, flames exploded out the window.

“I’m okay!” Raf said.

“Richards, get down here and help me carry this,” Tony said.

Nate appeared, as did Tess, who helped take an edge. Peter tossed a few more strands of webbing to help stabilize and then they were heading down to street level.

He leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. “Okay, Karen. What’s next?”

"I'm getting some weird readings two stories up. Let's go check them out."

He climbed upwards. “Define weird.”

"Could be people, could just be heat signatures from some smaller blazes. I can't be sure till we get a better look."

With a silent sigh he headed upwards.

*

It wasn't quite as bad as MJ had feared.

Hors d'oeuvres hour took an eternity, but most people just gushed about the Cap musical and how sure they were she'd be getting another Tony nomination. May Parker gave her a big hug and an understanding smile but fortunately didn't try any kind of pep talk. MJ really didn't want to cry before she had to sing. She was able to excuse herself when they called to sit for dinner so she could warm up and breathe.

The organizers waited until salads and entrees had been served and eaten before queuing her to go out. She got through the first two songs through sheer force of will. They were oldies that she knew backwards and forwards, but there was no passion or life in her performance and she knew it. Misery was starting to creep in when she risked a glance at the table Peter had been assigned and found it full of people. For an instant she thought they'd dug up some seat fillers, they she recognized Darcy Bennet's glasses and Sharon Roger’s blonde hair. Next to her was a still black-haired Nat, then a now noticeably pregnant Kate, and Lani Wilson. May was with them, as was Darcy's husband, whom MJ had only met briefly, Pepper Stark and her daughter, and a young teenage girl it took a moment to place as Edie Barnes. She was holding up a little camera, clearly recording her performance. When she spotted MJ looking at them she gave a sheepish shrug but kept recording.

MJ had to swallow a lump in her throat. She missed Peter and was worried about him and hated that he couldn't be here. But he'd gotten her what family he could to show up. A table full of friendly faces for her to turn to. It helped.

Smiling for the first time since she'd walked out, she fiddled with her mic and introduced her next song. She'd much prefer to just blast out the set and not chatter, but people had paid a lot of money to spend an evening with her and an evening they would get. Some of the songs were hard to get through - she'd chosen them with Peter in mind and it was a bit like pouring salt in an open wound. But she ended on Defying Gravity and it was almost impossible to be sad while singing that.

That table gave her a damn standing ovation. 

She gave a little curtsey, even as other tables got up, and blew her friends a kiss before slipping off stage.

She’d been told she could mingle with the crowd after her set, but she went out into the hallway outside the ballroom to have a minute to herself. The door opened again a few minutes later, and Kate came out. “They’re still in Toronto. You want to come back to the Tower and wait with us?”

MJ took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over her face. She sort of wanted to just go home and hug her cat. But she'd said some shitty stuff to Peter and he'd gone off to risk his life thinking she was mad at him. Rule of drama said she needed to make some sort of gesture to fix that. So she nodded. "I'm told there's some sort of line I need to stand on?”

“They call it the Wife Line. Ada complains about how inaccurate that is because Ada is pedantic and has apparently been annoyed about this since she was 7.”

That certainly sounded like Ada. "I should go home and get my cat. I've been leaving her alone too much.”

She nodded. “The Grownups like to wait upstairs together up in the penthouse and drink. I’m not really a joiner. Or, currently, a drinker. So I was going to worry about Wyatt from my couch. If your cat is okay with dogs you’re welcome to join me."

"I'm not sure how Mimi feels about dogs," she admitted. "I guess we'll find out.”

“Lucky is immune to everything. He’s around the Bartons’ cats all the time.”

It'd be good for Mimi to explore new things. "I have to shake hands with a couple people, then I can go. Should be at the Tower in an hour or so.”

Kate nodded and went back into the room.

After another moment to collect herself MJ went back to say her goodbyes. The organizers seemed very happy, which was nice. Though she didn't think she'd be agreeing to more of these anytime soon.

She took a cab out to Queens and had him wait while she tossed a few things into an overnight bag and shoved Mimi into her carrying case.

The cab dropped her off at the Tower, and she took the Avengers elevator up. FRIDAY helpfully indicated which apartment was Kate and Wyatt’s. The door opened for her when she approached it. Kate was in a t-shirt and yoga pants, taking a tray of brownies out of the oven.

The TV in the living room blared coverage of the Toronto fire.

"How's it going?" MJ asked, setting her bags down and opening the door for Mimi.

“Jet’s still in the air, so I know Wyatt is okay,” she replied. “FRIDAY, back the video up two minutes.”

Sure enough it scrolled back and stopped on grainy, smoky footage of what was clearly Peter, climbing up the side of the burning building, towing a person wrapped in webbing.

"Jesus," she whispered, sinking down on the couch. At least he was alive, too. Clearly.

“That suit he wears is laced with vibranium. Fireproof, bulletproof, bombproof. It’s not a closed system like the Iron Man suits, so he still needs air and a certain temperature range. But he’s pretty protected.” She pointed at the TV. “One of the earliest videos of him is doing exactly that, on smaller burning building, in a suit he made himself out of second hand athletic wear.” 

"Oh, I remember the hoodie suit. Spider-Man videos were pretty popular when we were in school."

“He’s got kind of a rep for being fearless.” She set the brownies under some kitchen appliance that blasted them with air, and then began to cut them. “Which is actually bullshit.”

"Yeah," MJ said softly. "I know."

Kate nodded with a small smile, like that met her approval. She piled brownies on two plates. “He is, however, very brave. And has the best moral compass of any of us.”

"I can believe that." The TV footage changed to talking heads and she peeled her gaze away to inspect the plate of brownies Kate handed her. "I was really shitty to him when he told me he had to go."

“He’ll pretend he’s fine.”

"I know." Because that was always what he did. "What should I do to. . . make sure he really is?"

“I am probably a terrible person to ask. I’m still figuring out how to do this whole emotional closeness thing.” She took a bit of brownie and chewed. “Early in my relationship with Wyatt, somebody took a shot at me. Wyatt was really freaked out, and my first instinct was to get mad because he was being possessive or doubting my ability to defend myself.” She took another bite. “And then he told me he was scared. And I told him this was my job, and he’d have to learn how to live with that.” 

"Peter sort of said something similar." She sighed and ate her brownie. "My parents fought all the time when I was a kid, until they had a very messy divorce that left my dad in jail and my mom off her meds. I don't think I know how to deal with conflict with someone I love. I either push everything away to pretend it's fine. Or I blow up over something stupid or not their fault."

“So apologize for the stupid, and then talk about what’s really bothering you. Whatever that is.”

She nodded. "This must be hard for you. Being here when you're used to being with them."

“It really is. This is the first time they have gone into the field without me since our very first mission. Which was also the day I met them.”

"Peter told me about the Program isolating you. Said it was like prison."

“That’s accurate. Though I like being alone. They dumped us all together and told us to fight the original Avengers. The flight to Siberia was us in the back of a cargo plane just staring at each other. Eli was stoic and dutiful. The rest of them were just plain scared shitless. And there’s Peter, casually sprawled in his seat, making jokes, reading a novel, just hanging out like he was on a flight to his next vacation.”

"He was always like that. Every club we were ever in, Peter was the heart of it. Everyone loved him and he managed to get along with everyone." MJ sighed. "I never really knew how he did it. I'd flutter around his orbit and pretend I wasn't interested."

Kate chuckled. “I don’t know how anyone is that social. I hate people.” She shrugged. “That day on the flight I decided he was just too young and naive to understand we were on a suicide mission.”

"Do you still think that?"

“No.” She looked at the TV, where they seemed to have finished the evacuation and were trying to help put out the fire. “I think it was just a very different manifestation of what I was feeling. Which was relief. Suicide missions aren’t scary if dying sounds like a good idea.”

"Yeah," MJ said, wishing that didn't make that much sense to her. "That sounds like Peter." Mimi had slunk out of the carrier finally and she reached down to scoop her up and tuck her in her lap.

“It saved our lives, though. That he was in that kind of mood, and that he was so young. He was fighting Barnes, and had to stop in the middle of the fight and exclaim at how cool the metal arm was. His voice hadn’t changed yet. They surrendered because they didn’t want to kill kids.”

When Nat had told her the story, she'd just said that Barnes had realized they were kids and they'd stopped fighting. That he'd realized because Peter had geeked out over his arm made a lot of sense. It was . . . very him. "I think that part of him, the part that thrives even when he wants to give up, has kept him alive a number of times."

“That is a very astute observation.”

MJ ate another brownie. "I really do love him."

“Even the part that causes him to occasionally stand you up?”

She buried her fingers in Mimi's fur. "Yeah. I think that part too."

Kate was quiet for a moment. “That might be a good thing to tell him.”

She smiled a little. "I'll start with that and see where it goes."

“I will say… I think he’s happier now than I’ve ever seen him.”

"That is very good to hear." She thought about their evening in the tub after opening night. "We settle each other. Smooth over the rough spots."

“That’s something worth fighting for.”

"And I am nothing if not a fighter."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Or happy Monday, depending.
> 
> This is the last chapter of Gravity. More notes at the end.

The inside of the quinjet smelled like burnt plastic, burnt hair, and sweat. Most of them were filthy. All of them were exhausted. Everybody but Peter seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

“This is the best I can do with this and the tape.” Kamala was attempting to fashion some sort of toga-like thing out a shock blanket and medical tape for Raf to wear. His clothes had in fact completely burnt off, as had all of his hair. People were really weird-looking with no eyebrows. Really weird.

“Too bad Bruce isn’t here,” Tony said. “He got really good at draping those blankets.”

“What we could have really used was Wanda,” Steve said. 

“Or Vision,” Bucky offered.

“No way to get anyone here in time,” Eli said. “This situation was unique.” Vision and Ada were in Wakanda for the summer visiting her family.

"We managed just fine," Tess said, wrapping a burn on Cassie's arm. "Though I think the Tower may run out of hot water tonight."

“That’s easy for you to say, you have backup,” Peter said.

She looked over at him, expression sad, but didn't reply as she finished her wrapping.

Nate gave Peter a rather tired pat on the back.

He was really not in the mood for pity. Though he agreed about the hot water. “Seriously though, we’re staffed up for war when most of what we do these days is search and rescue. We have plenty of people who can punch, but the two people most useful in a pile of rubble have no alternate, and no one to drag out of retirement in a pinch.”

There was a moment of silence, then Doc said, in the general direction of the other Grown Ups, "He's not wrong."

Steve blew out a breath. "Yeah. I know."

Peter sighed. He didn’t know if he’d have actually refused the mission. But it would be nice to have the ability, to have some kind of life without worrying how many lives it was costing.

They coasted into the city just before dawn, Wyatt settling the jet in the hangar perfectly as always. The back opened and they all slowly got to their feet and gathered their things, trudging out.

Out in the hangar he could hear Pepper yelling at Tony about not calling him herself. For a moment he thought his situation could be worse. But then they’d been married a decade and Pepper clearly put up with _much_ worse. He had no idea if MJ was going to be as forgiving.

What he needed right now was some sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t look so bad in the morning.

He walked out after Nate did, in time to see Wyatt hug Kate hard enough to pick her up. It was kind of sweet, the two of them. Kate needed someone like him to settle her.

Then he realized MJ was standing next to Kate.

He stopped dead, and she met his eyes. Then Raf crossed his path and MJ frowned and blinked at him as he passed. Peter didn’t blame her. A giant bald man wearing a silver lame toga was pretty much impossible not to stare at.

She was still staring when Peter finally started moving again. She looked back at him as he reached her, shook her head, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He held her, probably a little too tight. Soot was getting all over her, but right then he didn’t care. She was here.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm a bitch and my conflict management skills are shit. But I love you, and I'm really glad you're okay."

“I love you too,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’m sorry I stood you up. Again.”

"It's all right. I love the parts of you that stand me up, too."

He sighed, feeling something settle inside him. “Thank you for being here.”

"You're welcome." She leaned back to touch his face, brushing hair out of his eyes. "Come on, I ordered you some food. You probably have time to clean up before it gets here."

“I have never needed a shower more in my life.”

She tucked her arm around his waist and guided him towards the elevators. They were the last ones left in the hangar and had to wait for the lift a couple minutes before it got back to them. Once back in his apartment, she steered him towards the bathroom. "Fair warning, Mimi is in here somewhere."

That made him smile. “You brought Mimi?”

"I thought she would be comforting as I waited. And she's kinda getting some separation anxiety with me being gone so much."

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in front of the shower to strip out of his suit. “She’s welcome here any time.”

"It also occurred to me she should probably get used to you." She held her hand out and took the suit from him. "Does this go in the laundry chute?"

“Ah, no. I’ll have to take it down to the armory for cleaning. The jet was just too crowded to change and I kind of…didn’t feel like moving."

"I'm amazed you're still upright." She hung it over her arm. "I'll put it by the front door for you."

“That’s the superpowers.” He stepped in the shower and turned on the water. It came out ice cold at first, but he just leaned against the tile wall and waited for it to warm up. MJ left briefly, probably to put his suit away. He found the energy to wash the smoke smell out of his hair and skin. He was wrapping up when she returned with a big thick towel he didn't think he owned. When he stepped out of the shower she wrapped the towel and her arms around him and he was surprised to find it was warm and toasty.

“Did you microwave that?” He asked, just holding onto her. The towel felt really good.

"No. Kate and I bonded, she let me use her dryer. This is also her towel."

“You’re too good to me.” Something he adored her for.

"You deserve someone to take care of you," she told him, kissing his cheek.

“I probably should demure,” he said. “But I personally saved like a dozen lives tonight, so I’m going to have to agree with you.”

She laughed and gave him a squeeze. "Come on. Your food arrived. You must be starving."

He went over to his dresser to get some pajamas and then followed her into the living room. There was a plate of lasagna, garlic cheese bread and a Caesar salad on his table. His stomach rumbled at the smell and MJ chuckled. "I was gonna eat the salad but if you need it. . ."

“Salad is a waste of stomach space,” he replied.

"Got it." She sat next to him and dragged the salad over while he started digging into his food.

Once he’d shoveled in enough lasagna that the hunger abated, he paused and looked over at her. “How did it go tonight?”

She nodded as she finished chewing."Good. May and everyone who wasn't on mission came. Edie Barnes has a recording of it. The organizers were really happy, so all in all a success." She paused and sighed. "I'm really sorry for what I said."

He sighed, too. “I know you were hurt. And I’m sorry for that. I _really_ wanted to go. But this is what I do. I’ve always felt like having these crazy powers, I have a responsibility to use them. I can do things literally no one else can do. What kind of asshole am I if I choose my own desires over other people’s lives?”

"I know. I do. And I love that you help people and are a hero." She poked at her food. "I think. . . I don't know how to be angry in a healthy way, if that makes sense? My parents fought so much, about stuff I really didn't understand or seemed silly. So I try not to fight at all. And then stuff just bubbles up."

“That’s not any healthier.”

"Yes, thank you." She stuck her tongue out at him. "I promise to work on it."

“Thank you.” He paused. “I asked the grown-ups to try and find an at least somewhat adequate back-up for me.”

She nodded. "Kate suggested I talk to Lani, as I counted as a team member’s loved one. I think it's a good idea. I went to therapy for a while right after Dad went to jail, but couldn't afford to keep up with it."

“Lani is awesome. And is probably the only therapist anywhere who has experience in ‘how do I deal with dating a superhero?’” 

"That's what I figured." She ate some of her salad. "There's something I've been meaning to bring up, but this may be a weird time for it."

He started on the garlic bread. “My life is an exercise in weird. What’s up?”

"I know it's early, and you don't have to answer tonight. But I was thinking I'd like to move in here with you."

He stared at her in surprise. He could see her face fall, and he said, “I’m just processing. Up until an hour ago I thought we were breaking up.”

Her chuckle was very dry. "Yeah. Like I said, weird. It's just, I'm paying rent on an apartment I haven't slept in in weeks. You're way closer to the theater district. My cat misses me. I could get a place in Manhattan, but it would seriously fuck up my budget and then I'd be stuck in a lease if we decide to move in together in a few months anyway."

That made a lot of sense. Plus it wasn’t like he had a lease or rent. And he had a guest room, which one of them could sleep in until other arrangements are made, should this go sideways. He tilted his head. “Okay.”

Her brows went up. "Really? That easy?"

“Makes sense. I love you. Clearly this is a long term thing.” He shrugged. “I’d love to have you here every night.”

She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Awesome. I'm month-to-month so I can give notice anytime. I don't have a lot of stuff."

“There’s plenty of storage space in the sub-basements for anything that doesn’t fit in here.”

"Good to know." They went back to their meals, the silence between them easier.

Eventually he said. “I should tell you. . . Every time I have any kind of transition, I get really terrible nightmares. They’re not night terrors, I don’t thrash around and I won’t hurt you. But I will be in a really, really bad mood.”

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you for the warning. I'll try not to take it personally." After a moment of hesitation, she added, "Is there anything I can do to make it easier?"

He shook his head. “Not really. Lani thinks my mind has associated change with disaster and just freaks out whenever it happens. It’ll settle.” It had taken him a long time to sort all that out, and to be able to explain it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

“You help,” he said. “Just by being here.”

"I'm glad. I try to be a net positive.”

He finished his food, and put his hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. “I need sleep. You want to lay down with me?”

"I'd love to. It's been a really long day.”

He stood and held out his hand for hers, and together they walked into the bedroom. They brushed their teeth in companionable silence, and got into bed. She tucked herself up next to him, spreading her hand on his chest. Peter put his over hers, sighing in contentment. “Thank you for being here.” 

"Thanks for coming back," she replied.

He smiled. “Where would I have gone?”

"I don't know," she said, tone teasing. "Arms of some grateful Canadian hussy.”

“There is nobody better than you on the whole continent.”

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Get some sleep, tiger. You're delirious.”

“There is nobody better than you in the whole world,” he corrected, closing his eyes.

This time she kissed his mouth. "Goodnight, Peter."

*

MJ slept like a rock, mentally and physically exhausted. Sunlight was pouring through the window when she finally stirred to find Mimi hunched cautiously on the nightstand by her side of the bed.

"Hey princess," she murmured, reaching out to scratch her chin. "What a brave girl." She climbed out of bed to pee and feed the cat. She started the coffee as well before heading back to bed, where Peter was still sacked out.

She'd initially intended to wake him, but the bed was too tempting, so she just curled back up at his side, snuggling into him.

That got her a mumbled, “Mmm?”

"Nothing," she assured him. "Just being friendly.”

“What time is it?” he asked without opening his eyes.

"Around ten in the morning. Sun's out, city's awake. Cat was hungry.”

He turned to look at her. “Good morning.”

"Morning," she replied, stretching up to kiss him. "How did you sleep?”

He frowned like he was considering it. “Better than I thought I would, give the day I had.”

"That's good, right?" She brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Yes, very much. Sometimes after missions my dreams are weird. My brain sorting out what happened, I guess.”

"That makes sense. I have a lot of weird dreams when I first start rehearsals, sometimes. Usually about the plot of the play mixes with those nerve dreams where you forgot to get dressed or your teeth are falling you." She grinned. "I guess it's not _exactly_ the same, but-“

“The human mind is a strange thing.”

"Clearly." She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up to look at him. "So. What should we do today? How do you usually relax after a mission?”

“Lay around my apartment and do nothing.” He trailed his hand down her back. “I don’t know how much that appeals to you.”

"It sounds very appealing." She kissed him. "I just have to be at the theater by six.”

He leaned into the kiss. “Whatever will we do with ourselves?”

"Mmm." She sank down into him and his arms wrapped around her. "Trivial pursuit?”

She felt his hands cup her ass, and he murmured, “Twister?”

Chuckling, she nipped at his throat, “Risk?"

He stilled for a moment, then said, “No, I’m drawing the line there. Go get your thingamawhatsit.”

MJ laughed and rolled away to open the drawer of her night stand. "It's a diaphragm. You know the word.”

“Close enough.”

She shook her head and dug out the little box that held the device. Kicking the sheets down, she opened her legs, bending her knees to insert it. Peter tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back to watch her. It was such a…man pose.

Once it was properly seated she lowered her legs and rolled towards him. "Thingamawhatsit engaged.”

He pulled her close enough to kiss. “I adore you.”

"Ooo, that's even better than love." The kiss got slow and deep and tender. There was something nice about sleepy morning sex.

He tugged up the tank top she had on. “Yeah, it is.”

She lifted her arms and he tugged it all the way off, tossing it aside. He'd slept in just his pajama bottoms, so she already had free access to all his delicious muscle. He cupped her breasts in his palms, running his thumbs over her nipples, a light touch that made her shiver. “I will never get tired of this,” he told her.

Lifting a hand, she ran her fingers through his hair. "I should hope not. Sex is awesome.”

He laughed, and then he pulled her down to him so he could kiss her. One hand moved down her body, with the slowness of someone who thought he had all day. Over her ribs, along the curve of her waist, around her hip and between her legs. She sucked in a breath as he stroked her with one finger.

"Those calluses of yours," she muttered, arching her hips into his next stroke. "Are gonna be the death of me.”

“It’ll be a good death.” He was not in any particular hurry, it was such a gentle touch that his fingertips barely brushed her clit. But it was plenty enough to turn her on. She felt herself turn wet and soft under his touch, heat building and spreading inside her.

Eventually, she got him to come close enough to kiss. "If you shift a little closer I can wind you up, too," she murmured on his mouth.

He framed her waist with his hands so he could move her—honestly, the way he slung her around during sex like she weighed no more than a pillow was just really hot. He shifted her and himself so they were both on their sides, facing each other. “Better?”

Sliding her hand down his chest, she cupped the growing bulge in his pants. “Much."

He shoved his pajama pants down and kicked them off, muttering about how they should just sleep naked. She laughed and then he kissed her again, pulling her body up against his. His hand slid between her legs again and she wrapped her fingers around him. She kept her pace the same as his, slow and firm. His erection grew and she grew wetter as Peter's kiss got a little rougher and more intense.

When he pulled his hand back, she made a whimper of protest. Then he lifted her top leg and wrapped it over his hip, pulling her closer until their bodies touched. She sighed softly and used her grip on him to guide him to her entrance. He groaned at the feel of her, then took over, pressing slowly into her body.

It wasn’t a position with a whole lot of speed. All they could really do was rock and grind against each other. But that was kind of perfect. She nuzzled at him dropping kisses on his skin and playing with his hair. He did the same, murmuring her name a few times and occasionally hitching her closer.

It was a slow build of heat and friction and pleasure. The perfect way to start a day.

He touched the side of her face, and she looked at him. Their eyes locked and held. There was something about it that was more intimate than the sex itself. Her orgasm started to build and she dug her fingers into his shoulder, a sort of warning. He flexed his hips, pressing a little deeper inside, hitting a new spot. MJ gasped, hips snapping closer. She held his gaze as heat and pleasure rolled through her. He groaned and pulled her leg higher, moving her a little more until his eyelids fluttered, and a shudder passed through him. She could feel him coming inside her. She really loved that she could feel that now.

She cuddled into his heat as they both calmed, feeling safe and peaceful.

He held her against his chest, and she heard him whisper, “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”

Kissing his skin, she whispered back, "I adore you.”

*

_Eight months later_

It had started very simple. During one of MJ’s sessions with Lani, she’d fretted about her father’s upcoming parole hearing. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it with Peter, so she hadn’t mentioned it. Lani disagreed with her when she did that, so after a series of gentle nudges she finally talked to him about it, asking him if he’d come with her for support. He’d pressed to see if there was anything else he could do. She said she was having a little trouble finding a lawyer who would help with the parole hearing without charging her an arm and a leg.

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised two days later when she received a call from one of the best defense attorneys in the country. 

“Nah, no fee,” he told her when she sputtered she couldn’t afford it. “Stark and I go way back. Keeping him out of jail when he was younger bought me a big shiny yacht. I can spot a friend some pro bono.”

Well, Ada had once told her Peter was Stark's favorite. "I really appreciate it. If Dad had had a non-overworked public defender the first time, he probably wouldn't have gone in the first place.”

“I believe that. I’m going to hand you over to my secretary, she’ll set up a time for you to come over in person and we’ll talk about how we’re going to make this happen. My firm is in the Chrysler Building, right across from you.”

"All right. I'll see you soon, then." They said their goodbyes and she chatted with his secretary until they hammered out an appointment later in the week.

Peter was out on a training mission, and he didn’t get back until after she’d left for work. But he did wait up for her, and she kind of tackled him when she saw him.

"You arranged a lawyer for my dad," she explained when she finally let him up for air.

He grinned at her. “I may have made a call or two.”

"I love you." She kissed him. "You're amazing.”

“My fame has caused us hassle. Might as well do us good.” He paused. “You know they’re in the building next door. I could totally swing us over there from the balcony. I climb on the Chrysler building all the time.”

She laughed. "I have an appointment Thursday at eleven, but I think I'd prefer to walk in the front door.”

He kissed her temple. “Thought I’d offer.”

"I appreciate it." Then, thinking Lani would be proud of her, she added, "I would like you to come with me, though.”

“Of course, I'd be happy to.”

"Thank you.”

Her meeting with the lawyer was very positive. He told her that the more she could do to help her father successfully re-enter society, the better it would look for the parole hearing. She’d been saving money with the intent to rent him an apartment, but apparently they’d want him to stay with someone.

Preferably a permanent family relationship. Like a spouse—not happening—or, say, a daughter.

“Well, it’s good we’ve got a guest room,” Peter said on the way out.

She had been dreading asking, but still felt guilty. "Are you sure? You barely know my dad and it could be for a few months, even if he finds work right away.”

They got into the elevator. “Yes, I am sure. Also, what does he do? Maybe I could hook him up with a job.”

"He was a car mechanic before. But he's been taking a lot of classes in prison. I think he has a mechanical engineering degree by now. And a philosophy minor, but that's not helpful.”

“I can work with that.”

“You really think they’d be willing to hire a felon?”

Peter lifted a shoulder. “Nate is a felon. Wyatt has a court martial. Cassie was a thief and Kate killed some people, which would have definitely been felonies if they’d been caught. We’re surprisingly comfortable with crime.”

"I admit, I've never thought of it that way. He'll fit right in.”

She shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. A couple days later, while she was in the common room playing a high-stakes board game—the Avengers took their games very seriously—Wyatt wandered in to ask her about logistics for interviewing her father. 

He was wearing his baby in a wrap. All she could see was the little head resting on his chest above the fabric, staring at her with wide eyes beneath a shock of wild black hair. He wore that baby so much she was surprised when she saw Wyatt without him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was distracted by the cuteness. You want to interview my father?”

"Well, Jorge, my mechanic does. He could use some help.”

Her brows raised. "To work on the jet? Like the fancy invisible jet you take on missions?”

“Yes. You’d be astonished how much maintenance that thing needs.”

"I probably wouldn't." She shook her head. "Well, he can have visitors any weekday between eight and three. Two people max. I can call ahead and make sure he puts you on his approval list, then you can go whenever.”

“Cool. Set it up."

She called her dad once the game wrapped up. He was a little flummoxed that anyone from Stark would give him an interview, but he agreed to put Wyatt and Jorge's names on the visitor list. They chatted a little about how the musical was going and the offers she was starting to get now that her contract was nearing the end. "Peter and I will see you at the parole hearing," she promised before hanging up.

The parole hearing wasn’t like court. Once her father went in for the hearing, no one was allowed in but the lawyer. She and Peter had to wait outside. He’d told them the case was very strong. A job was waiting for him, and Darcy had scrounged up an apartment on the lower floors and made its use part of the pay. He’d been a model prisoner. The wait was nerve-wracking just the same.

Peter reached over and took her hand, and it was only then that she realized she was shaking. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I should have had Lani come, maybe.”

“Waiting is always the worst.” He put his arm around her. “I gotcha.”

She sighed and leaned on him. "It'll be fine. Whatever happens it'll be fine.”

The hearing room door opened and the lawyer came out alone. He nodded. “Granted. Release date June 1.”

Shock poured through her. Blood roared in her ears and she couldn't hear anything. Then she shrieked and hugged Peter and bounced to her feet to shake the lawyer's hand. "Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome. You can go in if you want to—it's against protocol, but a couple of the guys on the board want to meet Mr. Parker.”

She heard Peter snort behind her and turned just as he stood. "You okay with me using you for your fame?”

“You can use me any way you like.” He frowned. “That came out wrong.”

"No, I think that's pretty accurate." Tucking her hand into his, she tugged him into the meeting room.

Her dad sat behind a folding table, looking a little shell shocked, facing a panel of five. MJ immediately ran over to hug him and he roused himself enough to lift his arms and give her a tight squeeze.

She watched Peter turn on his charm, shake hands, sign autographs. People just liked him. She broke away from her dad to shake hands and thank them all. They were remarkably nice, smiling and nodding. Then she stole another moment with her dad before he had to go back to the block.

"Darcy said your apartment's ready whenever, so I can go in and get it all set up for you.”

“I can’t believe you did all of this,” he said quietly.

"It was mostly Peter and his friends. They take care of their own." And she was one of the family now.

“Always knew he was good people.”

"If possible, he's even better now." Over by the wall, the guard cleared his throat and pointed to his watch. MJ gave her dad one more hug. "I will see you soon. I'll come by and bring you a first day of freedom outfit.”

“Make it something awesome,” he replied, waving as she left.

Peter was waiting in the hall. She hurried the last few steps and threw herself at him, letting him lift her off her feet. "Thank you thank you thank you.”

He kissed her. “We should throw a dinner party,” he said when he put her down. “May wants to meet him.”

"I'll talk to him. He may need some time to readjust.”

He nodded. “No, I get that. I remember the de-institutionalization process.”

"I guess it would be similar." He slid an arm around her waist as they headed for the exit. "This feels so surreal."

“A lot of things about our lives are surreal if you think about them too long.”

"You make an excellent point. I'll try not to think too hard."

“I love you,” he told her. “It’s a good day.”

"It is an excellent day," she agreed, kissing his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus do MJ and Peter ride off into the sunset to continue sorting themselves out.
> 
> Mucho thanks to TheSilverStarling for being our beta on this one. I expect you'll see her name again in other fics soon.
> 
> We do not have any more Tales stories in the queue at this time. We're not done with the series! We have several couples/stories planned and hope to get to them soon. Thor: Ragnarok just really took our attention and held it, so we've been working on a couple of stories for that. Once is currently posting, the other is still in process and promises to be epic.
> 
> For updates and a State of the Fic post sometime this week, check out my Tumblr, nyxetoile.tumblr.com
> 
> Till next time, be safe, have fun, and have a happy New Year.


End file.
